;-NRLF 


31CLOGY 

LIBRARY 

G 


NESTLINGS   OF    FOREST 
AND  MARSH 


NESTLINGS 


OF 


FOREST  AND   MARSH 


By 
IRENE  GROSVENOR  WHEELOCK 


With  Twelve  Full-Page  Photogravures  and  many  Illustrations  in  the 

text  from  Original  Photographs  from  Nature  by 

Earn  B.  Whetlock 


CHICAGO 
A.  C.  McCLURG   &  CO. 

1902 


COPYRIGHT, 

A.    C.    McCLURG  AND    Co. 
1902. 

PUBLISHED  MARCH,  1902. 


\^ 

(^ 

A 


TO 

MY   OWN    NESTLINGS 

SARA    AND   LOYAL 


382683 


O  /'/  is  something 

To  be  taken  out  of  the  fuss  and  strife 
Of  the  singular  mess  we  agree  to  call  life: 

To  be  set  down  on  one*  s  own  two  feet 

So  nigh  to  the  great  warm  heart  of  God 

You  almost  seem  to  feel  it  beat 

Down  from  the  sunshine  and  up  from  the  sod  ; 

To  be  compelled,  as  it  were,  to  notice 

All  the  beautiful  changes  and  chances 

Through  which  the  landscape  flits  and  glances  ; 

And  to  see  how  the  face  of  common  day 

Is  written  all  over  with  tender  histories. 

JAMES  RUSSELL  LOWELL 


FOREWORD 


WHILE  not  a  scientific  treatise,  in  the  sense 
of  being  technical,  this  book  claims  to  be  as 
accurate  as  careful  observation  in  the  field,  with 
and  without  a  glass,  can  make  it.  It  has  been 
written  from  my  own  notes  gleaned  during  several 
years  of  study  of  the  nesting  habits  of  our  familiar 
birds,  and  some  not  quite  so  well  known.  In  the 
case  of  the  red-winged  blackbird  the  double  nest 
was  made  by  another  pair  of  birds  in  a  different 
marsh,  and  was  shown  to  me.  It  contained  one 
egg  in  the  lower  part,  exactly  as  described.  With 
this  one  exception,  I  have  chosen  to  relate  only 
those  incidents  which  have  come  under  my  per- 
sonal observation,  knowing  well  that  nothing  is 
recorded  which  any  one  with  the  same  amount  of 
patience,  leisure,  and  love  of  the  subject  might  not 
have  seen  for  himself.  The  individuality  of  these 
"  Little  Brothers  of  the  Air  "  has  not,  in  any  case, 
been  exaggerated.;  for  birds  of  the  same  species 
differ  in  habits  and  song  as  much  as  do  individuals 
of  the  human  kind,  and  to  know  them  is  an  endless 
study.  So  far  as  reading  human  characteristics 
into  animal  life  is  concerned,  can  any  one  tell  where 
9 


FOREWORD 


the  brute  ends  and  the  human  begins  ?  Many 
of  the  emotions  of  man's  heart  find  their  counter- 
part in  the  life  of  birds.  That  we  do  not  perceive 
this  proves  only  how  dull  is  our  sight. 

"  To  him  who  in  the  love  of  Nature  holds 
Communion  with  her  visible  forms,  she  speaks 
A  various  language." 

We  hear  and  interpret  according  to  the  keenness 
of  our  own  ears. 

IRENE  GROSVENOR  WHEELOCK. 
CHICAGO,  January,  1902. 


IO 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

A  PIONEER 17 

A  MAY  MOVING 29 

EL  CAPITAN ....  42 

A  MINSTREL  OF  THE  MARSHES      ' 52 

A  MARTINET  IN  FEATHERS 62 

JIM'S  BABIES ,  77 

PHOZBES  AND  THEIR  COUSINS 90 

THE  HOUSE  BEAUTIFUL 99 

A  FOSTER  BABY in 

MARSH  CRADLES 121 

A  MARSH  MYSTERY 134 

SANDPIPERS,   QUAIL,  AND  KILDEER 144 

THE  BIRD  OF  MANY  NAMES 158 

THE  HOUSE  THAT  FELL 170 

DR.  JEKYLL 180 

CARPENTERS,   MASONS,  AND  MINERS 191 

MONSIEUR  MISCHIEF 207 

A  BROWN  THRASHER 224 

COZUR  DE  LION 238 

A  WOOD  THRUSH 243 

YELLOW  WARBLER 250 


i  i 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


Page 

Three-weeks-old  blackbirds Title-page 

Young  catbirds  Headpiece 

Baby  long-billed  marsh  wrens  and  nest  .  .  .  Frontispiece 
Prairie  horned  lark's  nest  at  foot  of  a  corn-stalk 

(Plate  I.) 17 

Meadow  lark's  nest  and  eggs,  with  sheltering  grasses 

removed 21 

Bluebird's  nest  in  hollow  tree       .      .      .      .  .  .      .      .        30 

Bluebird's  nest  in  cavity  of  a  fence-post  ....  33 

Baby  bluebirds,  twelve  days  old 35 

««  Are  you  satisfied  with  this  pose,  Mr.  Photographer?"  37 

"  We  are  so  hungry1' 40 

Red-winged  blackbirds  about  two  weeks  old  (Plate  II.)  42 

Red-wing's  nest  in  rushes  45 

Young  red-wing  blackbirds  in  nest 48 

13 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


Page 
Yellow-headed    blackbirds    two   weeks    old    in    nest 

(Plate  III.) 52 

Home  of  yellow-headed  blackbird 53 

Young  clinging  to  edge  of  nest 56 

Baby  robins,  eighteen  days  old 64 

Robin,  six  weeks  old 68 

Taking  a  sun-bath         72 

Crow's  nest  in  crotch  of  a  tree  (Plate  IV.)  ....  77 

Olive-green  eggs,  spotted  with  black 79 

Phoebe's  nest  and  young 91 

Baby  pewee  fast  asleep 93 

Dainty  nest  of  the  wood  pe wee 97 

The  beautiful  and  the  grotesque 101 

Fluffy  baby  orioles         105 

Contentment 108 

Baby  chickadee  emerging  from  nest  (Plate  V.)       .      .  m 

Location  of  chickadee's  nest 114 

««  Two  is  company  " 125 

A  handful  of  babies 130 

Sora  rail's  nest  and  eggs 136 

A  baby  rail         138 

Immature  sora  rail 141 

Nest  of  spotted  sandpiper  exposed  (Plate  VI.)         .      .  144 

Sandpiper's  nest,  skilfully  concealed 146 

Sandpiper's  babies,  hiding  on  the  sand 148 

A  spry  little  "  teeter  " 150 

Baby  quail  in  the  hand 152 

H 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


Kildeer  and  young  one  day  old 154 

Kildeer  startled,  and  about  to  run 156 

Young  flickers  leaving  the  nest  (Plate  VII.)  .  .  .  158 

Squirming  flicker  babies,  two  days  old 162 

Young  red-headed  woodpecker  leaving  nest  .  .  .  171 

On  the  lookout ....  174 

Dr.  Jekyll 172 

Nest  and  eggs  of  the  jay  .  . 184 

One  of  the  jay's  victims  :  nest  of  swamp  sparrow  .  186 

Nests  devastated  by  jays 188 

Chimney  swift's  nest  and  eggs  (Plate  VIII.)  .  .  .  191 

"  We  want  our  mama  " 195 

Nest  of  barn  swallow 201 

Nest  and  eggs  of  catbird  in  a  bush  (Plate  IX.)  .  .  207 

Catbirds  three  weeks  old  :  The  same,  two  weeks  later  209 
A  tilt  between  a  bluebird  and  a  catbird,  each  four 

weeks  old 215 

The  same  birds  as  in  preceding  cut,  showing  progress 

in  feathering  and  relative  growth 220 

Nest  and  eggs  of  thrasher  in  thorn-bush  (Plate  X.)  .  224 

Nest  of  thrasher  on  the  ground 225 

Thorn-bush,  the  thrasher's  favorite  nesting-place  .  .  227 

Baby  thrashers,  ten  days  old 232 

Hair-bird's  nest,  in  same  thorn-bush  .  .  .  .  .  235 

Young  hair-birds  and  undeveloped  egg 236 

A  tyrant  fledgling 241 

A  nest  of  mud  and  grasses 244 

15 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


Page 

Young  wood  thrushes  and  cowbird 246 

Nesting-place  yellow  warbler  in  low  shrub  (Plate  XI.)     250 

Wee  yellow  warbler  nestlings 255 

Young  catbird 257 


16 


NESTLINGS 


OF 


FOREST  and  MARSH 


A    PIONEER 

Ere  a  leaf  is  on  a  bush, 
In  the  time  before  the  thrush 
Has  a  thought  about  its  nest, 
Thou  wilt  come  with  half  a  call, 
Spreading  out  thy  glossy  breast 
Like  a  careless  prodigal  ; 
Telling  tales  about  the  sun, 
When  we've  little  warmth,  or  none. 

WORDSWORTH. 

THROUGHOUT  the  tract  lying  along 
the  lake  shore  north  of  Chicago,  the 
real  herald  of  Spring  is  the  meadow  lark. 
The  bluebird  lingers  among  the  sugar 
maples  south  and  west  of  us  ;  the  robin 
shuns  the  chill  lake  winds  as  long  as  pos- 
sible ;  but  in  spite  of  wind  and  weather,  the 
meadow  lark  seeks  his  old  familiar  haunts 
in  his  appointed  time.  Not  only  is  he  the 
first  to  come,  but  the  first  to  sing.  Even 
2  17 


FOREST   AND   MARSH 


amid  snow  and  ice  I  have  heard  his  clear 
piping  whistle  on  the  sheltered  lowland 
meadows  about  the  Skokie  marshes.  It  is 
neither  so  jubilant  nor  so  oft-repeated  as 
when,  under  the  sunny  April  skies,  he 
pours  out  the  rapture  of  his  love  song ; 
but,  like  the  first  Spring  blossom,  it  is  the 
promise  of  joy  to  come. 

In  this  latitude  February  sunshine  is  a 
snare  and  a  delusion.  "  A  whiff  of  Spring 
to-day  is  buried  under  two  feet  of  snow  to- 
morrow/' Hunger  drives  the  sturdy  winter 
residents  of  the  forest  to  seek  food  among 
the  homes  of  men.  Many  perish  from 
starvation.  Brave  indeed  must  he  be  who 
voluntarily  leaves  a  land  of  plenty  for  such 
precarious  surroundings.  And  brave  he 
was.  Though  often  cold  and  hungry,  with 
the  courage  of  faith  he  never  failed  to  sing 
"  Spring  '11  be  here  !  "  on  every  bright  day. 

What  the  little  hero  found  to  eat  was  a 

mystery,  until    he  was   one  day  discovered 

robbing  a  field-mouse's  store  of  grain.      On 

another  occasion,  seeing  him  busy  on  top  of 

18 


A   PIONEER 


an  old  stump,  I  ungraciously  interrupted  his 
breakfast,  and  found  that  it  consisted  of  ants 
that  were  devouring  the  remains  of  a  squir- 
rel's hoard  of  nuts.  Undoubtedly  he  was 
also  finishing  the  feast.  At  another  time  he 
was  flushed  suspiciously  near  a  number  of 
empty  snail-shells  that  bore  evidence  of 
having  been  recently  broken  into.  Now,  I 
have  no  proof  that  he  was  responsible  for 
the  destruction  of  the  snails,  as  I  believe 
it  may  have  been  the  work  of  downy  wood- 
peckers, but  the  meadow  lark  was  feeding  at 
the  same  spot  on  something,  and  snails  were 
the  only  food  in  sight. 

Usually  he  slept  cuddled  under  the  long 
marsh  grass  close  to  a  hummock  ;  but  more 
than  once  I  have  startled  him  from  the 
friendly  shelter  of  a  brush  pile,  and  once 
from  the  low  crotch  of  a  tree.  For  a  long 
time  he  was  the  sole  one  of  his  kind  in  that 
meadow,  and  seemed  to  covet  the  society 
of  a  pair  of  horned  larks  who  were  always 
to  be  found  there.  Day  after  day  he  fed 
with  them  on  the  wet  roadway,  and  the 
19 


NESTLINGS    OF   FOREST    AND    MARSH 

companionship  seemed  to  be  mutually  agree- 
able, for  they  followed  where  he  flew  until 
their  early  family  cares  absorbed  them. 
Two  broods  of  young  horned  larks  were 
raised  in  this  meadow  in  March  and  May, 
respectively.  The  third  nest  was  made  in  a 
cornfield  in  July.  It  was  merely  a  slightly 
hollowed-out  place  at  the  base  of  a  corn  hill. 

In  early  March,  two  more  male  meadow 
larks  appeared,  and  a  few  days  later  a  soberly 
gowned  female  came  alone.  She  was  at 
once  the  object  of  much  attention.  The 
way  to  a  man's  heart  may  be,  as  cynics 
aver,  through  his  stomach ;  but  among 
feathered  folk  this  rule  is  reversed,  and 
many  a  ladylove  is  won  by  edible  dainties. 

With  the  mercury  at  zero  fat  worms  are 
scarce,  and  Madam  coquettishly  encouraged 
the  efforts  of  her  three  suitors.  There 
seemed  to  be  no  quarrelling  for  her  favor, 
but  each  one  laid  his  hunting  trophies  at  her 
feet  or  called  her  to  share  an  especially  rich 
find.  After  several  weeks  of  living  thus  on 
the  fat  of  the  land,  she  made  a  choice,  not 

20 


A   PIONEER 


on  account  of  brighter  plumage  or  sweeter 
song,  —  no,  it  was  merely,  as  I  believe,  a 
question  of  greater  hustling  after  bugs. 
About  this  time  the  other  suitors  seemed 
to  disappear  from  that  meadow,  and  all  the 
Spring  it  was  occupied  by  this  one  pair. 

About  the  middle  of  May  a  rude  nest 
of  grasses,  partly 
arched  over,  was 
made  in  a  small 
depression  in  the 
ground.  When 
we  discovered  it 
there  were  five 
eggs,  white  thickly 
speckled  with 
brown,  lying  in 
two  parallel  rows, 

three     On     One     Side  Meadow  lark's  nest  and  eggs,  with 

j  1  sheltering  grasses  removed 

and     two    on    the 

other.  In  order  to  photograph  the  nest 
we  were  obliged  to  disturb  the  overarch- 
ing grasses  a  little,  and  this  disclosed  it 
all  too  plainly  to  its  enemy,  the  crow. 

21 


NESTLINGS    OF    FOREST  AND   MARSH 

When  we    next    visited    it,    every   egg  was 
gone. 

The  parents  seemed  to  connect  us  in  some 
way  with  the  catastrophe,  and  were  much 
more  wary  in  concealing  the  second  nest, 
which  they  made  in  a  near-by  meadow.  So 
jealously  did  the  long  grass  guard  their 
secret  that  we  could  find  no  trace  of  it  until 
the  young  birds  were  hatched  and  partly 
feathered.  In  fact,  it  was  only  the  great 
anxiety  of  the  parents  that  betrayed  them. 
We  lay  down  flat  on  our  faces  in  the  long 
grass  on  top  of  the  hill,  and  with  field  glasses 
and  patience  at  length  located  the  nest. 
The  mother  bird  flew  from  it  to  a  tree  fifty 
feet  away,  looked  about  nervously,  and  then 
darted  swiftly  to  a  boggy  place  for  slugs. 
Soon  she  was  back  in  the  tree  with  her 
mouth  full  of  food  for  the  nestlings,  and, 
after  another  hurried  look  around  for  danger, 
went  directly  to  the  nest.  In  a  few  moments 
she  repeated  this  manoeuvre,  and,  as  long  as 
we  watched  her,  made  the  trip  every  ten 
minutes.  It  may  be  she  suspected  danger, 

22 


A    PIONEER 


for  not  once  did  she  come  or  go  without 
first  resting  in  the  tree  for  a  look-out. 

Meanwhile  the  mate  had  not  ceased  to 
utter  a  peculiar  note  of  warning  and  distress. 
His  part  was  to  guard,  not  to  feed,  and 
from  a  fence  post  on  the  opposite  side  he 
kept  faithful  watch.  Sometimes,  pressed  by 
hunger,  he  went  down  into  the  deep  grass  to 
feed,  but  his  little  head  was  ever  stretched 
up  on  the  look-out  for  danger,  and  rest- 
lessly he  called,  "  Pe  ent,  pe  ent." 

The  mother  alone  seemed  to  take  food  to 
the  nest,  and  from  her  movements  seen 
through  a  field  glass  I  judged  much  of  this 
consisted  of  grasshoppers.  She  carried  some 
of  it  from  the  bog,  but  a  great  deal  was 
caught  in  the  clover  near  the  nest.  We 
could  see  her  stop  and  stretch  up  suspiciously 
to  look  about,  and  could  watch  her  snap  the 
bug,  then  start  on  a  run  under  cover  to  the 
young.  She  seemed  to  kill  the  larger 
insects  by  tossing  them  up  and  catching 
them  several  times  in  her  beak. 

Having  satisfied  ourselves  as  to  where  the 
23 


NESTLINGS    OF    FOREST  AND  MARSH 

nest  lay,  the  next  thing  was  to  find  it,  in 
the  centre  of  a  ten-acre  meadow.  By  keep- 
ing a  certain  bunch  of  tall  clovers  on  a  line 
with  a  certain  tree,  we  came  to  the  place 
where  the  mother  had  so  often  disappeared. 
A  long  search  revealed  the  nest  carefully 
hidden  in  the  grass  and  nearly  arched  over. 
Five  half-fledged  birdlings  lay  with  .their 
heads  toward  the  outside,  cuddled  down 
compactly  in  a  space  apparently  large  enough 
for  but  one. 

Like  the  martins,  the  nestlings  were  sur- 
prisingly large  and  were  covered  with 
brownish  gray  down.  Their  beaks  were 
pinkish  gray,  and  the  inside  of  the  mouths 
a  deep  rose  red  rather  than  yellow.  Every 
little  mouth  was  opened  wide  for  food,  but 
their  eyes  were  covered  with  the  usual  mem- 
brane, and  did  not  open  until  two  days 
later.  We  judged  them  to  be  five  days  old. 

As  the  days  went  by,  the  alarm  call  of  the 
father  increased  in  shrillness  and  was  re- 
peated more  rapidly.  At  first  sight  of  us 
in  the  distance,  he  was  on  guard,  and  not 
24 


A    PIONEER 


a  movement  escaped  htm.  Never  did  he 
regard  us  with  the  least  confidence,  and  our 
approach  was  the  signal  for  a  display  of 
many  amusing  little  wiles  all  intended  to 
deceive  us.  Not  once  resorting  to  the 
stratagem  of  a  broken  wing,  so  common 
among  wild  birds,  he  attempted  to  convince 
us  that  the  nest  was  in  another  part  of  the 
meadow.  With  elaborate  absence  of  con- 
cealment, he  carried  butterflies  fluttering 
like  whirligigs  and  dragon-flies  without 
number  to  a  spot  a  hundred  yards  from  the 
true  nest.  This  was  repeated  day  after  day, 
and  each  time,  finding  it  useless,  he  perched 
on  the  same  fence  post  and  called  more 
piteously  than  ever.  So  long  as  we  were 
visible,  the  young  meadow  larks  cuddled 
together  in  unwinking  silence,  but  if,  hidden 
from  them  by  the  arched  roof  of  their  snug 
nursery,  we  were  absolutely  still  for  a  time 
and  then  swished  the  grass  lightly,  every 
little  mouth  opened  wide  for  food,  with 
plaintive  chirps.  They  remained  in  the 
nest  until  about  twelve  days  old.  One 
25 


NESTLINGS    OF    FOREST  AND   MARSH 

morning,  it  was  the  joth  of  May,  after 
a  soaking  rain  when  we  expected  to  find 
them  half  drowned,  they  were  gone.  We 
knew  from  the  distress  of  the  parents  that 
they  could  not  be  far  away,  but  listen  as  we 
would,  not  a  sound  came  up  from  the  clover. 
So  discreet  were  they,  and  so  protective  was 
their  coloring,  that  we  were  unable  to  find 
even  one  of  them. 

For  many  days  they  remained  hidden  in 
the  clover  field,  and  then  we  saw  them  flying 
to  the  fence  and  back,  and  finally  they 
ventured  as  far  as  the  wood.  They  were 
exact  copies  of  the  adult  birds  except  in 
length  of  tail,  which  seemed  out  of  propor- 
tion to  their  size,  and  they  displayed  the 
two  white  tail-feathers  spreading  in  flight, 
like  the  parents.  After  a  week's  freedom 
they  grew  quite  independent  of  parental 
support,  and  foraged  for  themselves  far 
and  wide. 

Although  we  were  not  able  to  catch  them, 
we  did  hear  their  first  attempt  at  song,  and, 
funny  enough,  it  was  much  like  a  small 
26 


A    PIONEER 


boy's  first  attempt  to  whistle.  Two  notes, 
a  little  catch,  two  more,  and  sometimes  only 
a  quaver  was  the  usual  result.  But  they 
were  very  proud  of  it  and  kept  at  it  early  and 
late.  I  suppose  it  could  hardly  be  called 
a  song,  and  yet  it  was  so  evidently  an 
attempt  to  give  voice  to  their  emotions  of 
joy  that  it  made  sweet  music  in  my  ears. 

The  father  did  not  sing  much  after  the 
nestlings  were  hatched.  He  whistled  occa- 
sionally very  early  in  the  morning  or  very 
late  in  the  afternoon,  but  after  the  bobolinks 
came  the  music  of  the  meadow  larks  was 
hushed.  He  still  chose  the  same  fence 
post,  but  his  call  was  one  of  warning  and 
anxiety  rather  than  delight.  Even  after  his 
family  cares  were  over,  and  the  babies  all 
flown,  he  could  not  refrain  from  worrying. 
Evidently  he  was  unable  to  realize  that  they 
were  nestlings  no  longer. 

The  family  seemed  to  keep  together,  for 

they  were  usually  to  be  found  in  the  same 

part  of  the  field,  and  yet  I  seldom  saw  two 

of  them  side  by  side  on  a  fence  or  a  tree. 

27 


NESTLINGS    OF   FOREST  AND    MARSH 

One  night,  just  after  sunset,  the  dog  flushed 
them  from  the  meadow  grass  —  which  led 
me  to  infer  that  they  slept  close  together  not 
far  from  the  old  nest.  Without  a  sound 
save  a  startled  "  whirr "  they  scattered  in 
various  directions,  some  reaching  the  low 
shrubs,  and  some  alighting  again  in  the 
grass.  In  this  instance  the  parental  instinct 
was  shown  by  the  adult  birds  taking  con- 
spicuous positions  widely  apart  to  distract 
attention  from  the  young. 


28 


A    MAY    MOVING 

O  bluebird,  up  in  the  maple-tree 

Shaking  your  throat  with  such  bursts  of  glee  ; 

Did  you  dip  your  wings  in  the  azure  dye 

When  April  began  to  paint  the  sky  ? 

Or  were  you  hatched  from  a  blue-bell  bright 

'Neath  the  warm  gold  breast  of  a  sunbeam  light  ? 

EMILY  DICKINSON. 

WALKING  one  day  through  an  orchard 
with  an  inquisitive  friend,  her  eager, 
investigating  fingers  pried  off  a  strip  of  bark 
and  disclosed  five  exquisite  blue  eggs  on  a 
bed  of  feathers  in  the  hollow  limb  of  an 
apple-tree.  The  door  of  this  dainty  home 
was  a  foot  higher  up  the  branch,  —  a  small 
round  hole  made  by  a  downy  woodpecker. 
The  little  bluebird  mother,  distressed  at  the 
undesired  exposure  of  her  domestic  arrange- 
ments, after  much  talking  it  over  with  her 
spouse,  decided  to  abandon  the  eggs  and 
make  a  new  home  elsewhere.  At  first  a 
clump  of  willows  in  a  swampy  place  was 
29 


NESTLINGS    OF    FOREST  AND    MARSH 


considered,  and  had  this  been  chosen  our  his- 
tory might  never  have  been  written.  Both 
birds  seemed  to  examine  every  available  place 
there,  and  so  pleased  were  they  with  one 

deserted  wood- 
pecker's  home,  I 
began  to  fear  they 
had  decided  upon  it. 
"  She  who  hesitates 
is  lost,"  and  while 
Madam  was  still 
looking  at  empty 
houses  this  one  was 
preempted  by  nut- 
hatches. When 
next  she  approached 
it  in  blind  confi- 
dence with  mouth 
full  of  grass,  a  storm  of  nasal  "  Non,  non," 
"  Non,  non,"  greeted  her.  Nuthatch  French 
was  convincing,  and  beyond  a  feeble  protest 
she  made  no  attempt  to  dispute  their  estab- 
lished claim.  A  site  was  finally  chosen, 
after  much  anxious  consultation  and  fre- 
3° 


Bluebird's  nest  in  hollow  tree 


A    MAY    MOVING 


quent  internal  inspection,  to  see  whether  it 
would  fit  and  had  a  good  subcellar  and 
plenty  of  closet  room,  and  with  many  pro- 
longed pauses  in  the  doorway  to  consider 
the  view.  It  was  in  a  tall  stump  in  a  grove 
of  elms  on  the  shores  of  a  beautiful  lake, 
and  was  more  commodious  than  the  first 
nesting-place,  being  the  last  year's  excava- 
tion of  a  red-headed  woodpecker.  Also, 
the  more  pretentious  doorway  was  several 
feet  higher  up  and  well  out  of  the  reach  of 
prying  fingers,  \nother  thing  commendable 
in  the  eyes  of  the  home-seekers  was  the 
absence  of  any  bark  on  the  outside  that 
inquisitive  hands  could  break  off.  The 
other  door  faced  east,  while  this  faced  west 
and  allowed  a  fine  view  of  the  sunsets  over 
the  lake.  Well  satisfied  with  their  choice, 
the  patient,  uncomplaining  pair  brought 
grass,  feathers,  and  hair  to  furnish  their  new 
dwelling.  In  a  few  days  —  five,  I  think  — 
the  little  blue  mother  retired  to  private  life 
for  a  season,  and  the  devoted  mate,  when 
not  singing  his  sweetest  from  an  adjacent 
31 


NESTLINGS    OF   FOREST  AND    MARSH 

perch,  brought  her  daintiest  morsels  of  food 
and  relieved  her  from  duty  at  least  once 
every  day,  going  out  of  sight  inside  as  she 
did.  In  two  weeks  from  the  time  she  began 
to  sit  there  was  great  hurrying  to  and  from 
the  old  stump.  The  babies  had  arrived  and 
were  hungry.  Both  parents  were  kept  busy 
from  that  time  on.  We  could  hear  the  little 
soft  twitterings  inside  the  stump,  gentle 
coaxing  for  food,  musical  protests  against 
being  crowded,  and  the  welcome  of  the 
mother's  return. 

1  At  last,  after  ten  days'  patient  waiting, 
judging  the  nestlings  to  be  full-feathered, 
the  Man  with  the  Camera  cut  open  the  side 
of  the  nest,  and  taking  three  of  the  babies 
out,  gently  placed  them  on  a  white  cloth  in 
the  sun  and  photographed  them.  Mean- 
while the  fourth  had  asserted  his  right  to 
freedom  by  flying  away,  and  three  babies  at 
once  being  all  we  could  well  manage,  we 
made  no  effort  to  capture  him. 

Those  were  troublous    times    at   the   old 
tree     nest.       The    sunny-tempered    parents 
32 


A    MAY    MOVING 


were  much  disturbed  at  this  violation  of 
their  privacy,  and  hovered  about  us  with  all 
the  interest  and  anxiety  manifested  by  human 
parents  over  cc  photographing  the  baby." 
Only  on  this  occasion,  there  being  four,  and 


Bluebird's  nest  in  cavity  of  a  fence-post 

right  lively  ones  at  that,  the  process  was 
even  more  tedious,  and  tried  the  patience  of 
the  photographer  quite  as  much. 

At  last  it  was  over,  and  two  of  the  young 

were  returned  to  the  nest,  and  the  damage 

was  repaired  by  nailing    the   loose  piece  in 

again.     The  other  two  were  held  captive  for 

3  33 


NESTLINGS    OF   FOREST  AND  MARSH 

two  days  for  further  experiments  in  photog- 
raphy. Following  the  advice  of  Mr.  Dug- 
more,  we  provided  them  with  a  nest  as  like 
their  own  as  possible  in  a  rubber  sponge  bag 
hung  on  a  door-knob.  Their  food  was  yolk 
of  hard-boiled  eggs  and  cracker  crumbs 
mashed  together,  varied  by  a  cut-up  earth- 
worm every  other  meal.  They  were  fed 
every  hour,  and  had  a  drink  of  water  with 
each  meal,  the  last  meal  at  night  being  at 
six  o'clock,  and  the  first  in  the  morning  at 
five.  Even  then,  only  ten  days  old,  they 
showed  different  characteristics.  One  was 
gentle,  easily  pacified,  and  trustful ;  the 
other  was  fierce,  always  hungry,  and  resent- 
ful of  captivity.  From  the  brighter  blue  on 
the  plumage  we  judged  the  gentler  one  to  be 
the  male.  If  so,  how  reconcile  his  meekness 
with  his  sex? 

His  wings  were  the  color  of  the  sky,  the 
rest  of  his  body  being  mottled  gray,  black, 
and  white.  A  line  of  down  over  each  eye 
marked  his  babyhood,  as  in  all  small  birds ; 
otherwise  he  was  fully  feathered.  The  fe- 
34 


A    MAY    MOVING 


male,  for  so  we  will  call  the  more  soberly 
gowned  fledgling,  was  soft  dappled  gray 
with  scarcely  a  hint  of  blue  in  her  coloring. 
Energy,  courage,  and  a  temper  were  surely 
hers,  whatever  her  sex.  She  never  liked  to 
receive  her  food  from  our  hands,  would  fight 
whenever  a  finger 
was  presented  to 
her,  and  greeted 
us  always  with 
the  peculiar  hiss 
of  birds  born  in 

Baby  bluebirds  twelve  days  old 

hollow  trees.    She 

looked  on  with  indignation  when  we  fed  her 
small  brother,  and  though  apparently  very 
hungry  herself,  never  extended  her  bill  for  any 
morsel  offered  on  the  finger-tips  or  held  over 
her  between  fingers.  If  given  on  the  end 
of  a  wooden  toothpick,  it  was  eagerly  swal- 
lowed. The  blue  wings  of  the  male  nestling 
quivered  in  eagerness,  hers  trembled  with 
anger  ;  and  these  two  emotions  were  as  dis- 
tinct and  easily  recognized  as  in  the  behavior 
to  a  human  baby. 

35 


NESTLINGS    OF   FOREST  AND    MARSH 

In  photographing,  also,  we  had  much  more 
trouble  with  her  than  with  either  of  the 
others.  She  would  not  sit  for  a  picture. 
She  would  turn  her  back  to  the  camera,  or 
would  fly  away  just  as  it  was  ready  for  the 
snap.  She  awakened  first  in  the  morning, 
and  called  loudest  for  food.  At  last,  being 
about  to  leave  the  vicinity,  and  not  caring  to 
take  the  nestlings  with  us,  we  tried  the  ex- 
periment of  again  opening  the  hole  and 
replacing  the  two  in  the  nest.  Scarcely  was 
the  small  piece  that  had  been  removed  put 
back  in  place  when  the  mother  bird  flew 
down  and  looked  in  at  the  door.  "  Dear, 
dear  !  "  she  seemed  to  say,  "  here  are  the 
lost  babies,  half  starved  !  Hurry,  hurry, 
to  feed  them  !  "  and  away  she  went  after 
bugs  and  beetles.  The  father  at  once  took 
her  place,  looked  in  also,  uttered  a  bluebird 
exclamation  of  astonishment,  and  swiftly 
flew  away  for  food  in  his  turn.  For  half  an 
hour  one  or  the  other  parent  was  at  the  nest- 
hole  constantly  with  nourishment  for  the 
returned  nestlings.  The  lost  were  found, 
36 


A   MAY   MOVING 


and  the  fatted  calf  was  killed  amid  fervent 
rejoicings.  It  seemed  to  me  that  the  blue- 
bird's song  that  night  had  a  happier  note  — 
"  Trually,  trually,"  "  thankfully,  thankfully." 
Two  days  after,  the  babies  flew  one  at  a 
time  from  the  old  tree  nest.  There  was  no 


"  Arc  you  satisfied  with  this  pose,  Mr.  Photographer?  " 

twig  or  bough  near  to  receive  them,  for  the 
tree  trunk  was  stripped  bare  of  bark  and 
branches.  Their  flight  must '  be  from  the 
door  of  their  snug  home  out  into  the  wide 
green  world  of  forest.  The  nearest  perch 
was  twenty  feet  away.  No  wonder  they 
stood  a  long  time  on  the  doorstep  summon- 
37 


NESTLINGS    OF    FOREST  AND    MARSH 

ing  courage  to  venture  out.  Twenty  feet  is 
a  long  distance  for  baby  wings.  There  are 
wonderful  and  terrible  things  in  the  green 
forest  to  baby  eyes.  By  and  by  one  took 
heart  of  faith,  or  a  gentle  push  from  behind 
forced  him  out,  and  away  he  fluttered. 
"  Bravo  !  "  called  the  little  blue  father,  flying 
around  and  under  him.  He  almost  reached 
the  branch,  tried  for,  but  could  not  quite 
grasp  it.  Down,  down  he  tumbled,  half 
flying,  half  falling  into  the  soft  ferns,  and 
sat  breathless,  frightened,  but  safe.  His 
bravery  was  at  once  rewarded  with  a  fine  tid- 
bit brought  by  his  fond  mamma.  In  the 
mean  time  his  brothers  and  sisters  left  in  the 
nest  had  grown  impatient,  and  now  two  little 
heads  appeared  one  just  behind  the  other  in 
the  small  round  doorway.  There  was  a 
peck,  some  naughty  words,  and  out  popped 
two  more  almost  at  the  same  instant.  Leav- 
ing home  so  abruptly,  they  had  no  oppor- 
tunity to  plan  their  travels,  and  tumbling, 
fluttering,  down  they  came  together  near  an 
old  tomato-can.  Breathless,  but  triumphant 
38 


A    MAY   MOVING 


and  delighted,  they  viewed  it  with  curiosity. 
Cautiously  the  bolder  pecked  it.  It  gave 
out  a  tinkling,  hollow  sound.  Lovely  ! 
He  tried  it  over  and  over  again,  much  as  a 
small  boy  pounds  a  drum.  His  proud  father 
came  with  worms,  but  for  once  he  was  too 
much  occupied  to  eat.  It  was  too  exposed 
a  place  for  a  baby  bluebird,  and  the  wise 
little  parents,  knowing  this,  used  every  wile 
to  coax  him  into  a  position  of  safety.  Finally, 
fearing  the  cat  would  get  him,  I  drew  near 
to  pick  him  up.  Away  like  a  flash  he  flew, 
the  other  little  one  following,  and  landed  in 
a  wild  gooseberry  bush  ten  feet  away. 

There  yet  remained  one  in  the  nest,  the 
fifth  having  disappeared  on  the  day  of  the 
first  photographing.  This  was  evidently  a 
home  body,  for  many  visits  and  much  coax- 
ing from  both  father  and  mother  failed  to 
persuade  her  even  to  look  out.  At  length, 
in  curiosity  and  doubt  as  to  what  had  be- 
come of  her,  I  pounded  on  the  tree  very 
hard,  and  out  to  the  edge  she  came.  But  an 
hour  of  coaxing  was  necessary  to  induce  her 
39 


NESTLINGS    OF    FOREST  AND    MARSH 

to  try  her  wings.  In  the  end  the  mother 
starved  her  to  it  by  refusing  to  feed  her  in 
the  nest.  She  would  fly  almost  to  the  timid 
one's  side  with  a  tempting  worm  in  her  bill, 


jgg|g 


"  We  are  so  hungry  " 

and  making  a  little  coaxing  noise,  alight  on 
the  tree  twenty  feet  away.  At  last  hunger 
prevailed  over  fear,  and  the  fledgling  made  a 
brave  effort  to  reach  her  supper.  Strange 
to  say,  she  was  the  only  one  who  succeeded 
in  alighting  on  the  tree.  She  was  really  bet- 
40 


A    MAY    MOVING 


ter  prepared  for  the  journey  than  any  of  the 
others,  but  was  of  such  a  conservative  na- 
ture, she  preferred  to  endure  present  ills 
rather  than  fly  to  those  she  knew  not  of. 
With  many  tempting  bits  of  food,  many 
soft  words  of  praise,  the  three  in  the  bushes 
were  finally  induced  to  strive  to  reach  by 
easy  stages  a  safe  perch  near  the  one.  This 
done,  both  parents  cuddled  contentedly  be- 
side them,  and  peace  reigned  in  the  old 
tree. 


EL  CAPITAN 


'Tis  always  morning  somewhere, 

And  above  the  awakening  continents  from  shore  to  shore 

Somewhere  the  birds  are  singing  evermore. 

LONGFELLOW. 


EARLY  in  March,  soon  after  the  arrival 
of  the  three  meadow  larks,  a  flock  of 
jolly  rollicking  red-winged  blackbirds  took 
possession  of  the  woods  along  the  marshy 
field.  Careless  of  wind  and  weather,  they 
piped  'their  gay  "  Konkaree  "  on  bright  and 
gray  days,  insisting,  in  spite  of  the  snow,  that 
"  Spring  is  here/'  Evidently  the  calendar, 
not  the  weather  man,  makes  the  blackbirds' 
Springtime.  When  the  icy  winds  blew  and 
the  sleet  covered  all  the  trees,  I  wondered 
where  they  were,  and  whether  cold  and 
hunger  would  drive  them  southward  again. 
But  with  the  first  sunshine  out  they  came 
as  merry  as  ever.  I  do  not  know  how  it 
may  be  ordinarily,  but  this  flock  evidently 
42 


EL    CAPITAN 


tucked  themselves  away  in  the  lee  of  a  straw- 
stack,  for  there  they  were  on  the  very  first 
hint  of  bright  weather.  There  also  were 
juncos  and  song  sparrows  —  a  companion- 
ship not  usually  sought  by  the  red-wings. 

Among  this  crowd  was  one  who  seemed  to 
hold  aloof  or  to  be  ostracized  by  the  rest. 
Every  evening,  just  at  sunset,  he  took  up 
his  favorite  position  all  alone  on  the  tip- 
top bough  of  a  tall  oak-tree,  and  sang  un- 
til the  last  purple  ray  had  faded  from  the 
sky.  Each  morning  from  the  same  high 
perch  he  sent  a  greeting  to  the  day.  Know- 
ing how  gregarious  blackbirds  are,  I  won- 
dered why  he  was  so  seldom  with  the  rest. 
At  length  I  was  forced  to  believe  that  it  was 
not  from  choice,  for  every  time  he  ap- 
proached them  he  was  received  with  a  chilly 
silence  and  great  tail-wagging.  And  how 
much  contempt  a  blackbird  can  express  with 
his  tail! 

The  reason  was  found  in  what  seemed  to 
me  his  especial  distinction ;  for,  by  a  strange 
freak,  his  shoulders  were  pure  white  instead 
43 


NESTLINGS    OF    FOREST  AND    MARSH 

of  crimson.  At  once  I  decided  to  keep 
track  of  him,  if  possible,  and  see  him  woo 
and  win  his  mate. 

This  proved  to  be  an  easy  task,  for  he 
was  no  rover.  When  the  more  accomplished 
musicians,  such  as  the  catbird,  thrasher,  and 
thrush,  arrived  from  the  south,  the  black- 
birds retired  to  the  marsh  near  the  hotel, 
and  with  them  went  cc  El  Capitan,"  as  we 
had  christened  the  white  epaulets,  and  there 
we  soon  found  him. 

His  wooing  was  conducted  with  the  same 
gay  nonchalance  that  characterized  all  his  ac- 
tions. With  wings  quivering  and  tail  spread, 
he  paraded  before  his  little  brown  sweet- 
heart. She  sat  swinging  on  the  wild  rice, 
apparently  entertained  but  not  enamoured. 
He  hovered  gracefully  over  her,  sat  on  a 
rush  in  front  of  her,  and  sang  "  Konkaree  " 
that  sounded  startlingly  like  "  Marry  me  !  " 
But  she  would  not.  Was  it  because  the 
white  shoulders  were  not  to  her  taste  ?  or  did 
she  fear  the  ridicule  of  the  rest  if  she  chose 
a  mate  with  such  outre  coloring?  While 
44 


EL    CAPITAN 


she  was  still  hesitating,  a  rival  suitor  ap- 
peared. After  a  moment's  pause  to  look 
over  the  "points"  of  the  new-comer,  "El 
Capitan  "  decided  that 
"thegame  was  not  worth 
the  candle,"  and,  with  a 
philosophy  creditable  to 
his  sex,  contemptuously 
flew  away.  He  would 
not  fight  for  any  lady's 
favor;  no,  not  he.  With 
a  flaunt  of  his  tail  he  was 
off  on  another  wooing 
just  as  ardent  as  before, 
and  smiling  to  myself  I 
say, cc  How  like  are  birds 
and  men  !  "  Once  hav- 
ing gained  a  mate,  it  was 
most  interesting  to  watch 
his  nest  building.  Strip  Red-wingls  nest  in  rushes 
after  strip  of  wet  marsh  grass  and  moss  was 
taken  from  the  stagnant  water  and  woven 
around  strong  rushes.  There  seemed  to  be 
less  turning  about  and  more  fluttering  than 
45 


NESTLINGS    OF    FOREST   AND    MARSH 

is  usual  in  shaping  it.  Every  piece  was  wet 
when  placed  in  position.  At  last,  before  I 
was  aware  of  it,  the  little  home  was  com- 
pleted, and  one  greenish-white  egg  scrawled 
with  black  lay  therein. 

But  now  a  strange  spell  came  o'er  the 
spirit  of  his  dream.  For  no  reason  that  I 
could  discover  or  imagine,  he  deliberately 
built  a  second  nest  on  top  of  the  first, 
covering  up  the  egg  and  completing  the 
second  structure  exactly  as  if  there  were 
no  family  skeleton  in  the  dungeon  beneath. 
Was  it  a  whim  of  Madam's  to  have  a 
house  larger  and  more  elaborate  than  her 
neighbors  ? 

Fortunately  for  my  observation  he  had 
chosen  the  edge  of  the  marsh,  either  to  have 
better  air  and  sunlight,  or  for  greater  protec- 
tion from  the  marsh  rats.  Being  in  a  posi- 
tion exposed  to  the  full  force  of  wind  and 
wave,  even  the  first  nest  had  been  made 
deeper  than  usual  and  woven  closely  around 
strong  dry  cat-tail  stalks. 

Evidently  the  second-story  apartment 
46 


EL    CAPITAN 


pleased  the  little  house  mother,  for  a  new 
egg  was  added  to  its  contents  daily  until 
there  were  five,  and  on  May  I5th  pitting 
began.  Food  and  water  were  near  by,  and 
yet  the  mother  left  the  nest  for  long  intervals 
while  "El  Capitan"  stood  guard.  He  made 
no  pretence  of  taking  her  place,  but  watched 
with  renewed  vigilance  and  scolded  a  little 
harder  as  our  boat  came  by,  evidently  regard- 
ing us  with  suspicion.  Did  he  recognize  us 
as  those  rude  creatures  who  had  set  up  a 
horrid  black  box  on  shining  legs  so  near  his 
home  a  day  or  so  before,  and  thus  kept  his 
wife  away  from  those  precious  eggs  long 
enough  to  chill  them  ?  On  May  2yth 
the  first  two  nestlings  were  out,  and  one 
hatched  each  day  thereafter.  We  knew  this 
before  we  looked,  because  of  the  curious  antics 
of  "  El  Capitan."  For  two  days  previous 
to  this  important  event,  I  had  seen  him 
peeping  into  the  nest  with  great  concern ; 
but,  as  he  carried  no  food,  I  knew  it  was 
anticipation,  not  realization.  When  they 
did  come,  he  nearly  burst  his  throat  in 
47 


NESTLINGS    OF   FOREST   AND    MARSH 


angry  chucks  on  our  approach,  his  protests 
vigorously  seconded  by  the  mother. 

But  we  were  curious  and  therefore  merci- 
less ;  besides,  was  it  not  in  the  so-called  inter- 
est of  science  ?  We 
pushed  cautiously  up 
and  looked  in, — 
only  two  babies  yet. 
They  were  pretty 
little  things,  though 
so  naked,  for  body, 
beak,  and  legs  were 
just  the  color  of  a 
ripe  apricot.  In  a 
few  days  dark  lines 
of  embryonic  pin- 
feathers  showed 
down  each  side  of  the  spine  and  the  edge  of 
the  wing ;  then  a  soft  brown  down  covered 
the  throat,  breast,  and  top  of  the  head.  By 
and  by  brown  feathers  pushed  out  through 
the  quills,  and  evidences  of  a  tail  became 
more  patent.  The  eyes  opened  and  the 
skin  grew  darker,  changing  to  greenish  gray 
48 


Young  red-wing  blackbirds  in  nest 


EL    CAPITAN 


on  the  forehead,  which  remained  entirely 
bare  even  after  they  were  fully  fledged. 
When  twelve  days  old  they  began  to  stand 
up,  after  the  manner  of  young  birds,  and  to 
tease  for  food  on  any  approach  to  the  nest, 
often  with  most  coaxing  chirps.  The  food 
carried  to  the  nest  was  nearly  all  picked  up 
from  the  water  and  the  decaying  vegetation 
among  the  rushes.  The  mother  frequently 
walked  out  on  the  lily-pads,  and  rilled  her 
beak  with  the  little  black  beetles  always  to  be 
found  there.  As  the  babies  grew  older, 
dragon-flies  and  butterflies  were  fed  them, 
the  latter  apparently  having  the  wings  torn 
off  by  the  mother  before  being  given  to  the 
young.  I  have  no  proof  of  this  except  what 
the  field-glasses  afforded,  and  I  am  not  en- 
tirely sure  of  its  accuracy.  The  birds  were 
not  especially  shy,  but  they  were  difficult  to 
watch  on  account  of  the  constant  motion  of 
the  rushes  in  front  of  the  nest.  These  I  did 
not  wish  to  cut  down  for  fear  of  exposing 
the  little  home  to  cruel  eyes. 

There  is  a  spirit  of  reckless  daring  inher- 
4  49 


NESTLINGS    OF    FOREST  AND    MARSH 

ent  in  every  young  blackbird,  and  the  off- 
spring of  "  El  Capitan  "  were  no  exception. 
One  of  these  bald-headed  babies  balancing 
himself  gingerly  on  the  edge  of  the  swaying 
nest,  was  a  funny  sight  on  a  calm  day,  but 
funnier  still  when  the  wind  blew.  How 
tightly  his  tiny  claws  grasped  the  stout 
grasses  as  he  bobbed  this  way  and  that,  in  a 
desperate  struggle  to  keep  right  side  up! 
How  enviously  the  four  in  the  nest  watched 
his  gyrations  !  Occasionally  a  second  and  a 
third  would  climb  out  beside  him,  and  then 
something  was  sure  to  happen.  Too  often 
it  was  a  tumble  for  all  three  back  into  the 
cradle,  but  never  a  cry  or  a  quarrelsome  note 
that  I  could  discern. 

All  the  little  red-wings  but  two  had  flown 
before  I  reached  the  nest  one  morning  —  so 
early  I  fear  no  one  will  credit  my  note-book, 
which  says  3:50  A.  M.,  but  morning  comes 
quickly  in  the  marshes  where  there  are  no 
trees  to  hide  the  sun.  The  nestlings  were 
near  by,  hanging  on  to  the  rushes  for  dear 
life  and  begging  for  food  with  quivering 
5° 


EL    CAPITAN 


wings.  The  two  left  in  the  nest  were 
cuddled  down,  with  no  thought  of  flying, 
and  I  fancied  they  might  not  leave  for  an- 
other day.  But  "  El  Capitan  "  was  a  wise 
father,  and  by  afternoon  had  taken  his  five 
little  folks  from  the  dangers  of  the  water's 
edge  to  an  orchard  not  far  away.  Here 
they  lived  day  after  day,  a  curious  anomaly 
in  blackbird  life,  picking  up  bugs  from  the 
ground  and  roosting  at  night  in  the  trees. 
It  is  a  statement  which  may  occasion  surprise 
that  those  small  blackbirds  tried  to  sing 
before  July  was  over.  To  be  sure,  it  was  a 
weak  quavering  little  song,  but  evidently  a 
direct  attempt  to  imitate  the  father's  u  Kon- 
karee."  "El  Capitan"  showed  a  ludicrous 
pride  in  this  performance,  and  the  very  last 
glimpse  I  had  of  him  he  was  sitting  on  a 
fence  wire  listening  to  the  efforts  of  an  am- 
bitious youngster  who  was  balancing  upon  a 
weed  stalk  below. 


51 


A  MINSTREL  OF  THE   MARSHES 

On  a  bulrush  stalk  a  blackbird  swung 

All  in  the  sun  and  the  sunshine  weather, 

Teetered  and  scolded  there  as  he  hung 

O'er  the  maze  of  the  swamp-woof's  tangled  tether  ; 

A  black  bass  leaped  for  a  dragon-fly 

And  struck  the  spray  from  the  sleeping  water, 

While  airily,  eerily,  there  on  high 

Sang  the  blackbird  pert  from  his  teeter-totter. 

ANONYMOUS. 

AMONG  the  glories  of  a  certain  Wis- 
consin marsh  are  hundreds  of  these 
beautiful  birds.  To  me  their  music  has  a 
peculiar  banjo-like  quality  unlike  that  of  any 
other  bird.  Heard  in  the  silence  of  acres 
of  wild  rice,  there  is  something  very  weird 
and  attractive  in  the  sound.  It  is  richer, 
fuller,  and  clearer  than  the  song  of  the  red- 
wings. 

The  yellow-head  of  the  photograph  was  a 
magnificent  fellow  of  glossy  black  plumage, 
except  for  the  rich  gold  on  his  head,  throat, 
and  chest,  and  his  lemon  epaulets.  Not  all 

52 


A    MINSTREL    OF    THE    MARSHES 

the  yellow-heads  have  the  color  in  their 
wings,  and  this  with  his  marked  individuality 
singled  him  out  from  the  crowd.  He  sat 
swaying  and  swinging  on  the  rushes,  not  a 


Home  of  yellow-headed  blackbird 

whit  disconcerted  by  our  approach,  watching 
the  boat  glide  nearer  and  nearer,  watching 
also  the  camera  as  it  was  focussed  and 
snapped,  never  ceasing  his  song  or  changing 
his  attitude. 

53 


NESTLINGS    OF    FOREST   AND    MARSH 

We  knew  that  somewhere  within  the 
forest  of  rushes  was  his  nest,  and  all  our 
interest  centred  in  finding  it.  Pushing  our 
boat  as  far  in  as  possible,  the  oars  were  laid 
down  on  the  mucky,  quaking  bog,  and  cau- 
tiously we  crept  to  the  snugly  hidden  home. 
It  was  a  strongly  woven,  deep  structure, 
very  like  that  of  the  red-wing.  The  four 
pretty  eggs  were  grayish  white  covered  with 
pale  brown  speckles.  The  thinness  of  the 
middle  of  the  shell  warned  us  that  they  were 
ready  to  hatch.  On  our  second  visit,  six 
days  later,  four  nearly  naked  birdlings,  cov- 
ered with  a  mere  haze  of  grayish  down  and 
embryonic  pin-feathers,  filled  the  nest.  Al- 
though we  waited  patiently,  not  one  ray  of 
sunshine  came  the  whole  day  long  to  make 
a  photograph  possible,  and  regretfully  we 
postponed  that  pleasure  another  week.  By 
this  time  it  really  seemed  as  if  the  male  bird 
recognized  us.  He  was  much  annoyed  but 
fearless,  and  only  protested  mildly  when  we 
landed  among  the  cat-tails  and  waded  out  to 
his  nest.  The  water  was  so  deep  and  the  bog 
54 


A    MINSTREL    OF   THE    MARSHES 

so  uncertain  at  that  spot  as  to  make  picture- 
taking  extremely  difficult;  and  the  Man 
with  the  Camera,  being  also  a  man  with 
patience,  made  many  attempts  before  he  was 
finally  successful.  The  little  ones  were  very 
active  handsome  babies,  fully  feathered  in 
soft  shades  of  brown,  and  looked  much  like 
the  young  brown  thrashers.  The  bills,  how- 
ever, were  black,  and  the  inside  of  the  throat 
a  soft  rose  pink,  quite  unlike  the  brilliant 
salmon  of  the  red- winged  blackbird  nest- 
lings ;  nor  were  their  heads  bare,  as  we 
expected.  They  were  nearly  ready  to  fly, 
and  insisted  on  raising  themselves  up  onto 
the  edge  of  the  nest  and  tumbling  about  in 
baby  helplessness.  In  so  doing  one  of  them 
caught  his  claws  in  the  skin  of  the  head  of 
his  brother,  and  then  ensued  the  first  crying 
we  had  heard  from  these  model  children. 
The  father  meanwhile  was  circling  over  our 
heads,  exhibiting  curiosity  rather  than  dis- 
tress. He  would  alight  every  now  and  then 
near  the  mother,  and  sing  a  word  or  two  of 
reassuring  comfort  to  her.  She  was  more 
55 


NESTLINGS    OF    FOREST  AND    MARSH 

timid  and  much  more  distressed,  fearing  to 
come  near  us  herself  and  perfectly  certain  that 
she  would  never  see  those  nestlings  again. 
After  taking  their  pictures,  during  which 

they  behaved 
admirably,  we 
went  into  con- 
cealment to 
watch.  At  once 
the  father  was 
there  with  food, 
and  the  mother, 
being  reassured 
that  the  boat  so 
near  did  not 
mean  a  trap,  soon 
joined  him  in 

Young  clinging  to  edge  of  nest  Caring    for    them. 

To  reach  the  haunts  of  the  yellow-heads 
from  our  camp,  required  a  row  of  three 
miles,  a  punt  of  one  mile  through  marsh,  a 
row  of  another  three  miles  and  punt  of  a 
quarter  of  a  mile.  Nevertheless,  so  deter- 
mined were  we  to  watch  their  nesting  habits 

56 


A    MINSTREL    OF   THE    MARSHES 

and  see  these  youngsters  develop,  that  we 
went  again  and  again,  taking  our  lunch  with 
us  and  lying  in  the  marshes  in  a  duck-boat 
all  day.  Many  have  described  the  beauties 
of  marshland,  but  can  any  one  register  its 
heat  ?  When  the  thermometer  placidly 
climbs  the  nineties  on  the  shady  hotel 
veranda,  out  in  the  rushes  a  smothering, 
sickening  mugginess  steams  up  from  the 
sluggish  water  and  beats  down  from  the 
blistering  sky.  However,  it  seems  to  affect 
the  spirits  of  the  blackbirds  not  one  whit. 
Bitterns,  rails,  and  tern  hid  under  coverts, 
but  the  blackbird  piped  his  "  Konkaree  "  as 
cheerfully  as  ever.  Satanic  in  his  coloring, 
the  red-wing  is  veritably  an  imp  on  a  hot 
July  day.  He  seems  to  mock  at  your  dis- 
comfort and  to  exult  in  the  swarms  of  midges 
and  marshflies  the  heat  coaxes  up  from  the 
water. 

Not  so    the  yellow-head.     At    all    times 
less  active  than  the  red-wing,  he  seeks  a  cat- 
tail on  the  edge  of  the  channel  where  every 
puff  of  air  will  come  his  way,  and  sings  in 
57 


NESTLINGS    OF    FOREST  AND    MARSH 

rich  content  with  the  world,  himself,  and  the 
weather.  That  the  little  ones  in  the  nest 
are  nearly  ready  to  fly  is  his  chiefest  concern, 
for  he  is  an  ever-watchful  parent.  Four 
out  of  every  five  broods  of  red-heads  that 
I  have  watched  have  been  destroyed  by 
snakes,  owls,  hawks,  or  marsh  rats,  but 
either  because  of  greater  vigilance  in  guard- 
ing, or  because  of  some  difference  in  location 
not  apparent  to  a  layman,  the  yellow-heads 
seem  to  be  much  more  fortunate.  All  of 
the  broods  under  our  notice  reached  matu- 
rity and  successfully  took  flight. 

The  one  especially  described  in  this  chap- 
ter was  very  slow  in  developing.  For  several 
days  after  the  birdlings  seemed  to  be  ready 
to  leave  the  nest,  they  clung  to  it,  loath  to 
try  their  fortunes  elsewhere.  There  was 
much  stretching  and  climbing  out  onto  the 
edge,  but  each  time,  just  as  I  was  waiting  in 
breathless  expectation  of  a  startling  debut, 
the  little  brown  wings  would  quiver  rapidly, 
and  with  a  look  at  me,  much  as  to  say,  "  You 
see  I  can  fly  if  I  really  want  to,*'  down  he 
58 


A    MINSTREL    OF   THE    MARSHES 

would  cuddle  into  the  nest  again.  During 
this  waiting  time  the  pride  and  interest  of 
the  handsome  father  were  amusing.  Except 
when  necessary  to  obtain  food,  he  never  left 
his  place  on  the  tall  rushes  by  the  side  of 
the  nest.  No  movement  of  those  young- 
sters escaped  him.  Often  after  an  unusually 
vigorous  wing-flapping  by  one  of  them,  he 
would  go  a  little  nearer  and  utter  two  or 
three  interrogative  and  rather  musical  chucks, 
as  if  to  encourage  the  youngster  to  try  again. 
Although  we  had  resolved  to  camp  right 
by  this  nest,  with  a  camera,  and  see  every 
stage  of  flying,  the  first  effort  took  place 
during  a  temporary  absence,  and  the  others 
so  early  in  the  morning  that  an  "  instanta- 
neous," which  was  the  only  thing  possible, 
was  a  failure.  The  young  stayed  about  the 
vicinity  of  the  nest  for  several  days,  but 
were  seldom  to  be  found  on  the  tops  of 
rushes.  They  seemed  to  slide  down  between 
them,  and  crouch  on  the  floating  vegetation. 
I  now  saw  the  reason  for  the  glint  of  blue  in 
their  wings,  for  so  perfectly  does  their  color- 
59 


NESTLINGS    OF    FOREST   AND    MARSH 

ing  harmonize  with  the  brown  of  the  water, 
and  dead  plant  life,  and  the  reflection  of  the 
sky,  that  it  is  very  difficult  to  watch  them. 
They  were  betrayed  only  by  their  efforts  to 
learn  the  peculiar  banjo-like  song  of  their 
father.  A  faithful,  untiring  teacher  he 
proved  to  be,  patiently  giving  each  note 
with  great  care  and  distinctness,  as  if  he 
realized  the  responsibility  of  educating  such 
wonderful  musicians  as  those  children  were  to 
be.  When  interrupted  by  the  grunt  of  the 
bittern,  or  the  squeal  of  the  wigeon  ducks, 
or  the  curious  whinny  of  the  "  skiddies," 
he  would  flirt  his  tail  in  impatient  derision, 
wait  for  a  silence,  and  begin  over  again. 
Soon  he  was  rewarded  by  what  seemed  to  me 
curiously  like  a  spasm  of  nausea  accompanied 
by  a  queer  clinking  sound  on  the  part  of 
one  of  the  little  ones.  This  was  repeated 
over  and  over,  and  always  with  the  curious 
humping  motion  before  the  note  was  uttered, 
as  if  it  must  be  forced  up  from  the  region 
of  his  tail.  I  have  seen  cow-buntings  do 
much  the  same  thing  in  their  efforts  to  sing. 
60 


A    MINSTREL    OF   THE    MARSHES 

The  adult  yellow-heads  are  graceful,  easy 
vocalists  so  far  as  any  physical  effort  is  con- 
cerned, and  I  am  curious  to  know  whether 
all  the  young  find  song  as  difficult  as  did 
this  brood. 

The  ordinary  food  of  these  interesting 
babies  was  waterbeetles,  slugs,  and  dragon- 
flies,  but  the  many  empty  snail-shells,  some 
bored  in  from  the  top,  led  us  to  suspect  that 
these  were  dainties  not  to  be  despised  in  the 
blackbird  menu.  They  are  even  accused  of 
being  cannibals  and  robbing  the  nests  of 
their  weaker  neighbors  of  other  species. 
Having  no  proof  of  this,  and  remembering 
the  gentleness,  beauty,  and  good-breeding 
of  this  particular  family,  I  indignantly  deny 
this  slander  upon  them. 


61 


A   MARTINET    IN    FEATHERS 

They  '11  come  again  to  the  apple-tree  — 
Robin  and  all  the  rest  — 
When  the  orchard  branches  are  fair  to  see, 
And  the  prettiest  thing  in  the  world  will  be 
The  building  of  the  nest. 

MARGARET  E.   SANGSTER. 

THIS  Spring,  only  a  few  feet  from  my 
window,  a  pair  of  robins  built  their 
nest  of  mud  and  grass  on  the  horizontal 
limb  of  a  large  oak.  There  were  no  interven- 
ing branches,  and  except  for  a  few  leaves  I 
had  an  uninterrupted  view  of  robin  house- 
keeping. From  the  first  the  male  was  a 
tyrant.  Several  times  when  the  mother  had 
carefully  shaped  the  foundations  of  the  nest 
to  suit  her  taste,  he  would  contemptuously 
poke  it  away,  and  remodel  according  to  his 
own  ideas.  Toward  the  last,  however,  he 
seemed  to  realize  the  necessity  of  finishing, 
or  he  grew  tired  of  teasing,  for  they  worked 
together  more  amiably,  and  constructed  a 
62 


A    MARTINET    IN    FEATHERS 

model  nest  satisfactory  to  both.  In  it  were 
laid  four  blue  eggs,  and  the  2d  of  June 
sitting  began.  The  little  mother  was  ex- 
tremely nervous,  and  watched  my  window 
with  frightened  eyes.  Fearing  she  would 
desert,  I  kept  the  curtains  drawn,  and  only 
indulged  in  cautious  peeking.  For  fourteen 
days  she  brooded,  relieved  at  long  intervals 
by  her  mate. 

At  these  times,  when  he  was  left  in 
charge,  he  made  no  pretence  of  covering 
the  eggs,  but  stood  astride  them,  a  ludi- 
crous picture  of  masculine  helplessness  in 
the  care  of  babies.  If  she  lingered  away 
too  long,  he  called  her, —  at  first  coaxingly, 
then  imperatively,  then  angrily  ;  and  often 
have  I  seen  him  fly  out  and  drive  her  back 
to  her  proper  sphere  in  the  home.  At  such 
times  he  lectured  her  severely  on  her  neglect 
of  duty,  and  flew  away  without  his  customary 
soft  twittering.  Whether  because  she  feared 
me  or  because  she  liked  liberty,  she  was 
loath  to  come  back  to  the  drudgery  of  nest- 
keeping,  and  he  knew  it.  He  was  a  strict 
63 


NESTLINGS    OF    FOREST  AND   MARSH 

disciplinarian,  and   his  rule  of  conduct  evi- 
dently was,   "  I   will    be   master  of  what  is 


mine  own." 


On  the  fifteenth  day  there  was  a  change. 


Baby  robins  eighteen  days  old 

Three  small  featherless  birdlings  were  seen 
lying  in  a  mixed-up  mass  in  the  little  nest. 
Only  by  their  great  gaping  yellow  mouths 
could  we  tell  how  many  there  were,  but 
those  were  ever  open.  The  parents  surveyed 
them  with  such  ostentatious  pride,  I  decided 
it  was  their  first  brood.  For  a  long  time 
both  male  and  female  brought  food,  and 
seemed  to  know  instinctively  which  one  had 
been  fed  last.  They  were  model  offspring 
64 


A    MARTINET    IN    FEATHERS 

and  rarely  cried,  but  I  could  notice  little 
contented  wrigglings  and  cuddlings  when  the 
soft  low  twittering  of  the  parents  on  their 
way  home  was  heard. 

Some  of  the  leaves  hung  over  the  nest  on 
the  side  next  the  window,  and  prevented 
a  full  view,  jso  a  small  boy  climbed  up 
and  removed  them.  This  caused  great  con- 
sternation in  the  robin  family,  and  it  was 
more  than  an  hour  before  the  mother  came 
to  the  nest  again.  When  she  did,  it  was 
only  to  sit  on  an  adjacent  branch  and 
"  chuck  "  angrily  at  me,  all  the  time  hold- 
ing a  large  yellow  grub  and  a  full-sized 
angle-worm  in  her  beak.  That  she  did  not 
enjoy  the  wriggling  of  the  latter  was  evident 
from  the  frequency  with  which  she  tried  to 
get  a  better  hold  by  rubbing  him  against  the 
bark.  Having  tried  in  vain  to  bait  a  fish- 
hook myself,  I  fully  sympathized  with  her. 

The  loud-voiced  protests  against  my  pres- 
ence at  the  window  called  all  the  bird  neigh- 
bors to  the  tree.  First  to  respond  was  an 
oriole,  who  came  quite  near,  cocked  his  head 
5  65 


NESTLINGS    OF    FOREST  AND    MARSH 

on  one  side,  and  looked  at  the  nest  full  of 
naked  babies  with  amusing  curiosity.  Then, 
with  a  contemptuous  flirt  of  his  tail,  as  much 
as  to  say,  "  Humph,  you  need  n't  make  such 
a  fuss.  Nobody  could  want  such  queer, 
homely  things  as  those  are !  Now,  if  they 
were  young  orioles, "  etc.,  he  flew  away. 
This  was  too  much  for  the  robin,  and  furi- 
ous with  anger,  she  darted  after  him,  pur- 
suing him  from  tree  to  tree.  Meanwhile  a 
phrebe,  a  red-eyed  vireo,  a  song  sparrow, 
and  a  bluebird  were  examining  the  nursery 
from  a  safe  distance  and  expressing  their 
views.  They  were  sympathetic  and  re- 
garded me  with  suspicion  ;  but  an  unmis- 
takable spirit  of  criticism  on  the  choice  of 
location,  size  of  nest,  and  method  of  building 
was  evident  in  their  remarks.  The  blue- 
bird gently  wondered  why  a  nest  should  be 
built  in  such  an  exposed  position  when  there 
were  plenty  of  nice  dark  holes  in  the  trees 
which  were  much  safer  and  better  for  bird- 
lings'  eyes  than  such  strong  sunlight.  The 
climax  came  when  a  red-winged  blackbird 
66 


A   MARTINET   IN    FEATHERS 

passing  by  was  especially  scornful,  and  his 
advice  to  "build  near  the  ground  among  the 
cat-tails,  where  any  inquisitive  watcher  would 
drown  in  the  mud,"  was  so  unbearably  con- 
ceited that  both  parents  drove  him  away. 
Job's  comforters  were  they  all  !  All  but 
one  saucy  English  sparrow,  who  had  been 
hopping  excitedly  between  me  and  the  nest, 
talking  as  fast  as  only  a  sparrow  can.  Fi- 
nally, when  the  robin  became  sufficiently  calm 
to  listen,  this  was  what  that  small  brown  bird 
said :  "  It 's  all  nonsense,  your  being  so 
frightened.  My  nest  is  much  nearer  to  that 
monster  than  yours,  and  I  am  quite  calm. 
Don't  you  know  that's  a  woman,  and  she 
can't  climb  a  tree  ?  You  are  quite  safe/' 
This  seemed  in  some  strange  manner  to  re- 
assure the  timid  mother,  and  in  a  few  mo- 
ments she  stayed  .at  the  nest  long  enough  to 
pop  a  dragon-fly  down  the  throat  of  the 
hungriest  or  the  most  persistent  of  her 
babies. 

On  the  sixth  day  the  eyes  were  opened  and 
feathers  beginning  to  show.     Soon  the  breast 
67 


NESTLINGS    OF    FOREST  AND   MARSH 

took  on  the  beautiful 
mottled  appearance 
of  the  thrushes.  Far 
handsomer  were 
they  than  either 
father  or  mother 
when  they  began 
to  stand  up  in  the 
nest  and  look  out 
into  the  great  world. 
They  watched  their 
parent  fly  away,  at 
first  with  round- 
eyed  astonishment, 
then  with  curiosity, 
plainly  declaring, 
"  I  wonder  how  she 
does  it."  Finally, 
longing  to  follow  was 
clearly  expressed, 

Robin  six  weeks  old 

and    a     resolve    to 

try  shown  by  climbing  out  onto  the  edge. 
They  were  still  under  parental  control,  how- 
ever, and,  like  naughty  children,  the  moment 
68 


A    MARTINET    IN    FEATHERS 

mother  was  seen  returning,  down  they  would 
squat,  as  if  the  idea  of  flying  had  never  oc- 
curred to  them. 

Twilight  was  a  time  of  much  restless 
poking  and  squirming  on  the  part  of  these 
nestlings.  Apparently  they  were  as  hard  to 
put  to  sleep  as  human  babies.  As  another 
writer  says  of  young  humming-birds,  "  They 
resented  being  sat  on,"  and  the  mother  was 
finally  forced  to  be  content  with  a  seat  on 
the  edge  of  the  nest. 

When  they  were  fourteen  days  old,  there 
came  a  hard  rain  and  wind  which  tore  down 
trees  and  washed  out  culverts.  Anxiously 
I  watched  the  brave  little  mother  battle  with 
the  storm.  At  first  she  sat  facing  the  win- 
dow, not  daring  to  turn  her  back  to  me. 
Alas  !  in  all  those  fourteen  days  she  had  not 
learned  to  trust  me.  The  wind,  catching 
her  wings  and  tail,  threatened  to  lift  her 
bodily  from  the  nest,  and  in  a  momentary 
lull  she  managed  to  turn  herself  so  as  to 
face  it,  not  once  rising  to  expose  the  little 
ones.  There  she  clung  for  nearly  two  hours, 
69 


NESTLINGS    OF   FOREST  AND    MARSH 

while  the  fierce  storm  beat  pitilessly  in  her 
face,  and  it  seemed  as  though  cradle,  babies, 
and  all  must  go  down.  As  it  increased  in 
fury,  she  spread  her  feathers,  sitting  even 
more  closely,  and  forming  a  perfect  shelter 
over  the  edge  of  the  nest  as  well  as  over  the 
young  birds,  and  I  believe  not  one  drop 
reached  them.  After  it  was  over  and  only 
a  light  rain  falling,  she  flew  off  to  an  adjacent 
branch  and  shook  herself  as  if  from  a  bath, 
not  one  whit  the  worse  for  her  drenching, 
and  in  ten  minutes  appeared  at  the  nest  with 
three  angle-worms  in  her  beak. 

Having  read  Mr.  Treadwell's  estimate 
that  each  young  robin  eats  sixty-eight  earth- 
worms daily,  —  which  would  be  a  propor- 
tion of  seventy  pounds  of  meat  and  six 
gallons  of  water  per  day  for  an  average  man, 
—  I  fell  to  counting  the  worms  brought  to 
this  nest.  The  result  seemed  to  justify  Mr. 
Treadwell.  In  three  hours  after  this  rain, 
sixty-one  earthworms,  sixteen  yellow  grubs, 
and  thirty-eight  insects  of  various  sorts, 
from  grasshoppers  to  dragon-flies  and  moths, 
70 


A   MARTINET    IN    FEATHERS 

had  been  devoured  by  those  three  innocent- 
looking  young  robins,  and  the  feeding  pro- 
cess was  still  going  on  when  I  left  the  win- 
dow. During  the  last  few  days  of  their  stay 
in  the  nest,  either  the  father  or  the  mother 
was  cramming  food  down  the  spotted  golden 
throats  of  the  nestlings  every  three  minutes. 
There  was  strong  individuality  shown 
even  then.  One  youngster,  evidently  "a 
male,  was  much  more  restless,  energetic, 
and  self-assertive  than  the  other  two.  I 
was  not  surprised  to  see  him  rise  on  the 
edge  of  the  nest  one  day,  watch  his  mother's 
flight,  and  decide  that  he  could  follow  her. 
This  he  did,  to  the  surprise  and  consterna- 
tion of  his  small  sisters  left  meekly  at  home. 
He  went  just  as  far  as  his  untried  wings 
could  carry  him,  and  landed  in  a  crotch  of 
the  main  trunk,  six  feet  below  the  nest. 
Just  then  the  father  returned  with  food,  and 
so  astonished  was  he  at  the  exploit  of  his 
son  that  he  uttered  a  loud  cry,  even  with 
his  mouth  full  of  caterpillars,  and  for  one 
whole  minute  forgot  to  feed  the  venture- 
71 


NESTLINGS    OF    FOREST  AND   MARSH 

some  youth.     After  that,  however,  he  evi- 
dently decided  that   this   was   a  son   to   be 


Taking  a  sun-bath 


proud  of,  —  girls  being  a  minor  considera- 
tion anyway,  —  and  he  devoted  all  his  efforts 
to  the  adventurer. 

72 


A   MARTINET    IN    FEATHERS 

The  next  day  the  other  two  were  still  in 
the  nest  and  seemed  content  to  remain  there, 
but  the  fond  father  and  the  eldest  son  were 
nowhere  to  be  found.  The  Man  with  the 
Camera,  having  decided  that  conditions  were 
favorable  for  a  family  portrait,  climbed  the 
tree  amid  the  angry  protests  of  a  whole 
neighborhood  of  birds,  and  carried  the  two 
remaining  babies  down  to  be  photographed. 
That  ordeal  over,  he  replaced  them  in  the 
nest,  expecting,  of  course,  to  see  them  fly 
away.  But  no,  —  they  cuddled  down,  per- 
fectly content  to  be  safe,  warm,  and  cared 
for.  The  glorious  freedom  of  the  air  had 
no  attractions  for  them ;  what  they  most 
desired  was  a  cosey  place  to  lie  in  the  sun 
and  watch  the  big  white  clouds  float  by, 
sure  that  at  their  first  hungry  chirp  mother 
would  bring  them  food.  The  anxious  little 
mother  seemed  to  feel  something  was  wrong 
with  these  two,  and  talked  to  them  more 
volubly  after  the  largest  one  had  flown. 
Once  I  fancied  the  father  came  back  to  look 
at  them,  but  could  not  be  sure,  as  he  only 
73 


NESTLINGS    OF   FOREST  AND    MARSH 

alighted   near  a  moment   and  did   not   feed 
them. 

It  was  five  days  after  the  flight  of  the 
first  when  these  two  were  seen  outside  the 
nest,  on  a  branch  and  nearer  the  window. 
Then  the  mother  hovered  frantically  near 
them,  afraid  lest  they  fly  too  far  and  yet 
anxious  to  get  them  away  from  danger. 
She  grew  very  cross  and  scolded  constantly, 
savagely  driving  away  every  bird  that  came 
near  the  tree,  apparently  not  knowing  that 
by  so  doing  she  was  telling  the  world  what 
treasures  were  hidden  there.  I  pitied  her, 
left  with  the  responsibility  of  those  two  lazy 
nestlings.  There  they  sat,  stupid,  obstinate, 
refusing  to  budge.  In  vain  she  coaxed,  in 
vain  she  offered  tempting  bits  just  out  of 
reach.  They  nestled  up  to  each  other,  shut 
their  eyes,  and  slept.  I  believe  I  might 
have  captured  them  with  little  trouble ;  and 
evidently  the  mother  thought  so  too,  for 
her  distress  was  pitiful  and  compelled  me 
to  leave  the  window. 

Where  the  father  was  during  this  troub- 
74 


A    MARTINET    IN    FEATHERS 

lous  time  at  the  home,  I  never  knew.  Once 
during  that  week  I  came  upon  a  male  robin 
feeding  a  solitary  birdling  at  least  a  mile 
away  from  the  tree  I  had  been  watching. 
It  seemed  improbable  that  they  should  have 
wandered  so  far  away,  and  yet  the  coinci- 
dence of  one  baby  with  the  father,  is  not 
frequent  in  the  robin  family,  where  all 
keep  together  so  long.  On  the  fifth  day 
after  the  flight  of  the  eldest  son  one  of  the 
two  stay-at-homes  actually  ventured  out  of 
the  nest  as  far  as  the  nearest  twig.  This 
boldness  so  astonished  the  last  nestling 
that,  actuated  by  some  occult  impulse,  he 
too  resolved  to  try.  As  he  balanced  hesi- 
tatingly on  the  edge,  the  mother  darted 
suddenly  toward  him,  thereby  precipitating 
a  "  fly  or  fall  "  crisis.  Both  nestlings  flew 
—  blindly  —  and  landed  in  the  shelter 
of  a  hawthorn-bush.  There  they  sat  all 
day,  and  about  five  P.  M.  fluttered  to  the 
lowest  branch  of  a  sapling  for  the  night. 
The  mother  slept  there  with  them  that 
first  night,  and  by  morning  they  had  all 
75 


NESTLINGS   OF    FOREST  AND   MARSH 

gone   farther  afield,  where  I   did  not  follow 
them. 

But  there  was  still  an  unhatched  egg  in 
the  nest,  and  the  small  boy  again  climbed 
after  it.  To  our  surprise  we  found  this 
egg  contained  a  young  bird  nearly  ready  to 
hatch,  and  apparently  it  had  been  alive 
when  the  mother  left  the  nest  the  day  be- 
fore. This  irregularity  is  by  no  means  rare 
among  woodpeckers,  but  I  had  not  found 
it  before  in  the  robin  family. 


76 


V* 


JIM'S    BABIES 

You  slay  them  all  !      And  wherefore  ?      For  the  gain 
Of  a  scant  handful  more  or  less  of  wheat, 
Or  rye,  or  barley,  or  some  other  grain, 
Scratched  up  at  random  by  industrious  feet, 
Searching  for  worm  or  weevil  after  rain  ! 

LONGFELLOW. 

MR.  ERNEST  SETON-THOMP- 
SON  says  "  every  wild  creature 
comes  to  a  tragic  end,"  and  this  seems  to 
be  particularly  true  of  crows.  They  are  the 
Ishmaels  of  the  feathered  kingdom,  with 
every  man's  hand  against  them.  The  law 
which  protects  other  birds  offers  a  bounty 
for  their  heads.  The  farmers  hate  them  ;  the 
small  boy  considers  them  legitimate  prey,  and 
pockets  the  price  on  their  heads  with  the 
satisfaction  of  well-doing.  I  confess  to  a 
grudge  against  them  myself  for  the  many 
nests  of  song-birds  they  have  robbed  within 
my  own  precincts.  It  is  disappointing  to 
watch  a  brood  day  by  day  until  the  young 
77 


NESTLINGS    OF    FOREST  AND   MARSH 

are  hatched,  and  you  have  conceived  a  real 
love  for  the  helpless  little  things,  and  then 
come  back  after  an  hour's  absence  to  find 
that  a  crow  has  stopped  there  for  breakfast, 
and  not  one  is  left.  And  yet,  why  blame 
the  crows  for  what  we,  with  our  full  knowl- 
edge of  good  and  evil,  do  for  mere  personal 
adornment  or  gratification  of  palate  ? 

The  story  I  am  going  to  tell  of  a  farmer's 
hate  and  a  father  bird's  love  is  true  in  every 
respect,  and  is,  alas  !  only  one  of  many  such 
instances. 

Early  in  April  a  pair  of  crows  selected 
the  top  of  a  sturdy  oak  in  the  wood  about 
our  temporary  home  for  their  nest,  and  be- 
gan to  build.  Day  after  day  they  carried 
twigs  from  the  brush  pile,  dead  leaves  from 
the  wood,  and  bunches  of  cow-hair  from  the 
pasture,  to  the  crotch,  and  placed  each  bit 
with  nicest  care.  Let  no  one  slur  a  crow's 
nest,  for  every  twig  has  its  own  place,  and 
you  cannot  remove  one  without  disturbing 
the  entire  structure.  This  particular  nest, 
according  to  the  description  of  the  Man 
78 


JIM'S    BABIES 


-with  the  Camera,  who  had  climbed  to  inspect 
it,  was  the  perfection  of  good  workmanship, 
and  was  lined  with  a  thick  mat  of  cow-hair 
padded  down  to 
a  hemisphere. 
We  had  sup- 
posed it  to  be 
much  flatter  and 
less  deep  than 
the  examination 
revealed.  In  it 
were  laid  five 
pointed  olive- 
green  eggs,  spot- 
ted with  black. 
They  were  ar- 
ranged in  a  circle 
with  points  to- 
ward the  centre. 

The  mother  bird  was  extremely  shy,  and 
left  the  nest  before  the  intruding  climber  had 
reached  the  first  crotch,  and  all  efforts  to 
obtain  a  good  photograph  of  her  failed.  She 
was  never  away  long,  and  on  returning  in- 
79 


Olive-green  eggs  spotted  with  black 


NESTLINGS    OF    FOREST  AND    MARSH 

variably  followed  the  same  route  with  the 
same  precautions.  Circling  over  and  past 
the  tree-top  several  times,  she  would  alight 
on  a  tree  fifteen  feet  to  the  west,  and  look 
in  every  direction  ;  then  flying  to  one  about 
the  same  distance  to  the  east,  she  looked 
again.  In  order  to  remain  hidden  I  was 
obliged  to  swing  myself  around  the  trunk 
of  a  tree  as  she  moved  in  search  of  me. 
Having  assured  herself  that  all  was  well, 
she  flew  to  the  topmost  limb  of  the  nest- 
tree,  and  hopped  down  the  branches  to  the 
one  containing  the  nest ;  then,  walking  with 
a  comical  deliberation  along  it,  she  slipped 
onto  the  eggs  so  deftly  that,  watch  as  I 
might,  I  never  saw  her  do  it.  Once  there, 
she  seemed  to  sit  motionless  until  the  next 
resting-time,  and  only  her  yellow-rimmed 
eye  could  be  seen  winking  as  she  peered 
over  the  edge  at  us.  Her  mate  came  often, 
bringing  her  frogs,  fish,  and  even  duck 
eggs.  The  first  she  swallowed  whole,  the 
fish  she  seemed  to  tear,  and  the  egg  was 
placed  in  the  nest,  where  she  ate  it  from 
80 


JIM'S    BABIES 


the  shell  as  daintily  as  Queen  Victoria 
is  said  to  have  done.  The  male  al- 
ways carried  these  in  his  beak,  and  I  am 
sure  the  fish  were,  as  a  rule,  several  days 
dead.  I  watched  him  many  hours  at  his 
fishing,  and  never  but  once  saw  him  catch 
a  live  fish.  Usually  he  preferred  those 
cast  up  on  the  shore  by  the  water.  Frogs 
and  snakes  he  caught  in  the  marshy  meadow, 
and  I  have  seen  him  kill  a  snake  that 
measured  twenty-three  inches  long.  But 
for  our  shouting,  which  compelled  him  to 
leave  it,  he  would  probably  have  carried 
this  to  his  mate  on  the  nest.  A  fish, 
which  we  forced  him  to  drop  from  mid- 
air, fell  into  an  open  meadow,  and,  con- 
cealing ourselves  at  a  distance,  we  watched 
him  come  back  for  it.  This  he  did  almost 
immediately,  but  being  frightened  a  second 
time,  gave  up  the  search,  and  with  many 
indignant  cc  caws "  flew  back  to  the  lake 
for  another. 

Early  in   our   acquaintance    with   "Jim" 
a  peculiar  conflict  took  place,  at  sunrise  one 
6  81 


NESTLINGS    OF   FOREST  AND   MARSH 

morning,  which  resulted  in  a  loss  of  his 
chief  beauty  —  his  tail.  He  was  usually  to 
be  seen  on  a  tall  tree  one  hundred  feet  from 
the  nest,  where  he  could  watch  all  that  oc- 
curred and  be  near  if  danger  threatened. 
It  happened  that  blue  jays  had  selected  this 
tree  for  their  home,  and  they  wisely  objected 
to  sharing  it  with  him.  They  had  fought 
him  day  after  day,  and  driven  him  away 
temporarily,  only  to  find  him  there  on  their 
return  from  each  absence.  At  length  matters 
reached  a  crisis,  and  a  mob  of  jays  attacked 
him,  resolved  to  settle  the  question  of  pos- 
session once  for  all.  For  a  time  he  held  his 
ground  gallantly.  The  method  of  warfare 
then  became  most  amusing.  A  jay,  perched 
above  the  crow,  flew  down,  knocking  his  tail 
each  time  in  insult,  and  at  the  same  moment 
one  below  flew  up,  bumping  against  him  as 
he  rose,  and  screaming  in  derision.  One 
jay  would  "dare"  another  openly  to  further 
insult,  and  at  length  the  challenged  alighted 
squarely  on  the  crow's  back  for  an  instant. 
Escaping  punishment,  they  became  reckless, 
82 


JIM'S    BABIES 


and  while  the  poor  crow,  bewildered  by  the 
onslaught  of  the  jays  in  front,  flapped  his 
wings  and  screamed,  turning  round  and  round 
to  face  them,  these  two  jays  flew  between  his 
wings  and  his  body  several  times,  nearly 
upsetting  him.  At  length,  either  rendered 
desperate  by  his  obstinacy  or  grown  bolder 
with  his  seeming  lack  of  courage,  they  seized 
his  tail  and  hung  on  until  each  had  pulled 
out  a  feather.  This  was  too  much  for  even 
a  crow's  courage,  and  he  left,  ignominiously 
defeated  by  a  "  passel  of  good-for-nothing 
jays." 

Much  as  I  sympathized  with  him,  I  could 
not  but  be  glad  of  the  accident  which  enabled 
me  to  distinguish  him  with  certainty  from 
other  crows,  and  from  that  day  my  interest  in 
him  doubled.  About  this  time  the  low 
chuckings  were  heard  more  frequently  in 
the  old  crow's  nest.  "  Jim  "  redoubled  his 
attentions  to  his  mate,  and  seldom  left  her 
without  a  note  or  two  of  farewell  in  a  tone 
wholly  different  from  harsh  crow  cc  caws/' 
He  stood  guard  on  a  nearer  tree  now,  and 
83 


NESTLINGS    OF    FOREST  AND    MARSH 

when  she  left  the  nest  she  invariably  called 
him  to  it  with  a  peculiar  inflection  on  the 
"  c-a-a-w."  To  me  it  said,  "  Come,  come, 
dear  ;  "  and  he  came  instantly.  Whatever 
may  be  crow  etiquette  on  such  occasions, 
"  Jim  "  was  a  model  spouse,  patient,  faith- 
ful, and  brave. 

Early  one  April  morning,  about  two 
weeks  after  the  first  nest  building,  we  no- 
ticed an  unusual  stir  in  the  tree.  Both 
parents  were  there  on  a  limb  near  the  nest ; 
and,  from  the  excited  tones  and  comical 
oglings,  we  concluded  that  the  babies  had 
arrived  at  last.  So  the  Man  with  the  Cam- 
era once  more  ascended  to  investigate.  Great 
was  the  commotion  his  presence  created. 
Calmly  to  focus  a  camera  while  two  angry 
crows  are  aiming  at  your  eyes  with  beak  and 
claws  requires  more  than  Roman  fortitude, 
and  he  was  forced  to  content  himself  with  a 
hurried  glance  into  the  nest  and  a  still  more 
hurried  descent.  There  were  five  of  the 
homeliest  bits  of  bird-life  imaginable,  naked, 
blind,  with  a  dull  greenish  hue  to  their  skin, 
84 


JIM'S    BABIES 


and  yet  the  objects  of  absurd  pride  to  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  "  Jim/'  Never  were  babies  more 
admired  or  more  coddled.  One  of  the 
parents  was  at  the  nest  constantly  with 
dainties  for  the  darlings.  I  am  sorry  to  say 
these  too  often  consisted  of  the  young  nest- 
lings of  other  birds.  We  knew  this  by  the 
way  "  Jim  "  robbed  nests.  English  spar- 
rows, song  sparrows,  and  field  larks  were  his 
victims.  Eggs  of  all  varieties,  'young  frogs, 
minnows,  refuse  from  the  kitchen,  were  all 
carried  to  those  nestlings. 

It  takes  a  surprisingly  long  time  for  young 
crows  to  develop,  and  "Jim's  "  babies  were 
no  exceptions  to  this  rule.  For  fully  four 
weeks  they  were  kept  in  the  nursery  and 
were  model  infants. 

The  last  ten  days  I  could  see  them  stand 
on  the  edge  of  the  nest,  and,  stretching  each 
little  wing  with  their  claws,  look  about  over 
the  swaying  tree-tops  and  straight  at  the  sun 
with  blue  eyes  that  never  blinked.  About 
this  time,  with  the  help  of  a  small  boy,  a 
photo  was  taken  of  the  five  in  their  nest ;  but 
85 


NESTLINGS    OF    FOREST  AND    MARSH 

the  negative,  like  dozens  of  others,  for  some 
mysterious  reason  was  a  blank.  Before  we 
could  get  another  they  had  flown.  In  spite 
of  our  close  watching,  and  possibly  because 
of  it,  this  important  first  lesson  in  flying 
took  place  during  our  absence  from  the 
wood  ;  but  we  saw  them  soon  after  snuggled 
up  together,  every  mouth  open  for  food. 
This  Mr.  and  Mrs.  "  Jim "  took  turns  in 
supplying  until  the  young  were  several  days 
out  of  the  nest,  and  then  their  training  be- 
gan. So  far  as  I  am  able  to  judge  of  bird 
education,  they  were  much  more  easily 
taught  than  young  robins. 

While  we  did  not  see  the  very  first  flight, 
we  did  witness  the  preliminaries  for  several 
days  beforehand.  These  lessons  lacked  the 
fuss  and  coaxing  of  the  robins.  The  young 
crows  hopped  out  on  the  nest  limb  and 
flapped  their  wings  in  exercise  many  times 
before  the  final  day  came.  At  such  times 
"  Jim,"  on  the  topmost  twig  of  the  tree, 
watched  them  with  pardonable  pride.  He 
also  watched  us,  and  talked  in  a  crow  under- 
86 


JIM'S    BABIES 


tone  to  those  five  black  babies  about  the  ene- 
mies lurking  under  the  tree.  Mrs.  "  Jim  " 
was  even  more  nervous,  and  kept  up  a  per- 
petual cawing  and  jerking  her  tail  whenever 
we  were  in  sight.  It  was  comical  to  see  the 
young  ones  peer  over  the  edge  at  us  in  imi- 
tation of  their  elders,  withdrawing  instantly 
at  our  first  move. 

Every  night  found  them  in  the  oak-tree. 
When  taken  down  to  the  lake's  edge  as  soon 
as  they  could  fly  to  drink  and  bathe,  they 
walked  into  the  water  with  evident  delight, 
and  waded  about  in  it,  trying  to  pick  up 
bright  pebbles  shining  on  the  beach.  The 
second  day  they  did  find  some  kind  of  food, 
though  it  was  impossible  through  the  field- 
glasses  to  tell  just  what.  At  some  signal 
given  by  "  Jim  "  they  usually  rose  with  one 
accord  in  circles  until  level  with  the  tree- 
tops,  sometimes  striking  a  lower  level  and 
disappearing  in,  rather  than  over,  the  wood. 
Yet  wherever  ,,they  spent  their  waking 
hours,  I  am  sure  that  for  many  days  they 
came  back  to  the  nest-tree  at  night. 


NESTLINGS    OF    FOREST  AND   MARSH 

By  this  time  their  wings  were  strong,  and 
one  day  the  entire  family,  with  several 
others,  disappeared  over  the  tree-tops  and 
did  not,  according  to  tradition,  come  back  to 
the  old  tree  to  roost.  We  missed  them,  and 
wondered  why,  but  not  until  a  week  later 
was  this  mystery  solved.  When  driving 
through  a  country  road  on  the  other  side  of 
the  lake,  the  Man  with  the  Camera  ex- 
claimed, "  That  looks  like  a  crow  hanging  on 
the  barbed  wire  fence  yonder !  "  We  tied 
the  horse  and  tramped  across  lots  to  investi- 
gate, and  may  such  a  sight  never  meet  my 
eyes  again.  On  the  ground  within  a  radius 
of  a  few  feet  were  the  lifeless  bodies  of  five 
young  crows  ;  and  there,  beside  his  slaugh- 
tered little  ones,  hung  "Jim,"  impaled  by 
his  throat  and  exhibited  as  a  warning  to  all 
his  tribe  not  to  meddle  with  that  farmer's 
corn.  Looking  over  the  many  acres  of 
bright  green  spears  that  stretched  field  after 
field  away  to  the  woods,  I  wpndered  whether 
the  amount  taken  by  "Jim"  and  his  brood 
would  have  materially  lessened  that  crop. 
88 


JIM'S    BABIES 


Poor  "Jim  !"  His  efforts  to  get  an  honest 
living  for  his  young  were  thwarted  by  the 
crowds  of  fishermen  near  his  home,  and  so, 
in  thievery  of  a  few  kernels  of  corn,  he  met 
his  fate.  What  diabolical  trap  had  been  set 
for  them,  and  where  was  Mrs.  "Jim"? 
These  questions  were  never  answered.  It 
was  enough  to  know  that  "  Jim,"  though 
doubtless  a  thief  and  cannibal,  had  per- 
ished in  defence  of  his  young  like  the  cour- 
ageous father  he  had  ever  been,  and  we 
sadly  added  one  more  to  our  list  of  bird 
tragedies. 


89 


PHCEBES   AND    THEIR   COUSINS 

The  little  bird  sits  at  his  door  in  the  sun, 

Atilt  like  a  blossom  among  the  leaves, 

And  lets  his  illumined  being  o'errun 

With  the  deluge  of  summer  it  receives; 

His  mate  feels  the  eggs  beneath  her  wings, 

And  the  heart  in  her  dumb  breast  flutters  and  sings  j 

He  sings  to  the  wide  world,  but  she  to  her  nest,  — 

In  the  nice  ear  of  nature  which  song  is  the  best  ? 

LOWELL. 

AN  ice-house  is  a  curious  place  for  a 
home  even  in  summer  weather,  but 
this  particular  ice-house  stood  on  the  side 
of  a  bluff  overhanging  a  pretty  inland  lake, 
and  a  site  on  the  big  hoisting-beam  just 
under  the  eaves  offered  advantages  of  safety, 
coolness,  and  fine  view  not  often  found. 
Moreover,  there  were  tall  trees  all  about  it, 
to  give  it  a  more  rural  air  and  insure  plenty 
of  bird  neighbors.  Here  early  one  April 
morning  a  handsome  little  Phoebe  brought 
his  mate,  and  persuaded  her  in  sweetest 
tones  to  go  to  housekeeping.  She  was 
90 


PHGEBES   AND    THEIR    COUSINS 

some  time  in  deciding.     It  seemed  to  be  a 
little  higher  from  the  ground  than  she  really 


Phoebe's  nest  and  young 

liked,  for  she  kept  flying  down  from  it  to 
the  ledge  of  the  door  just  beneath.  But  he 
insisted  on  his  choice  and  she  had  promised 
to  obey,  so  they  began  to  build.  So  fearless 
and  so  friendly  were  they  that  conceal- 
91 


NESTLINGS    OF    FOREST  AND    MARSH 

ment  was  unnecessary,  and  I  watched  them 
openly.  At  first  they  came  with  mud,  then 
bits  of  fibre  and  fine  moss,  then  more  fibre. 
For  six  days  they  were  busy  weaving  and 
shaping  it  to  their  taste.  As  she  sat  in  it  to 
mould  it,  her  little  tail  was  often  flat  up 
against  the  boards,  a  most  uncomfortable 
position,  but  the  home-making  so  absorbed 
her  that  she  did  not  mind.  When  the  house 
was  finished,  an  artist  might  have  marvelled 
at  its  beauty,  —  of  soft  green  and  silver,  so 
round  and  smooth  that  it  looked  to  be 
shaven,  and  yet  every  little  spear  of  moss 
was  perfect  in  shape.  It  has  been  suggested 
that  Phoebes,  humming-birds,  and  others  who 
pad  their  nests  thickly  with  moss  and  down, 
do  so  to  render  them  non-conductors  of 
electricity  during  a  storm  ;  but  this  seems  to 
me  very  improbable.  Yet  what  better  ex- 
planation have  I  ?  We  all  ask  cc  why  ?  " 
but  he  who  is  to  explain  Nature's  mysteries 
is  yet  to  come.  It  was  enough  for  me  to 
know  that  when  the  five  tiny  white  eggs 
were  laid  in  that  pretty  nest,  the  mother 
92 


PHCEBES   AND    THEIR    COUSINS 


brooded    while     the     father    watched     and 
sang. 

He  took  up  his  position  on  the  end  of 
the  ridge-pole  of  the  |~~ 
roof  directly  over  the 
nest,  and  while  incu- 
bation was  going  on 
was  rarely  absent  and 
rarely  silent.  At  all 
hours  of  the  day  and 
far  into  the  night  I 
heard  him,  and  my 
glass  seldom  failed  to 
show  him  standing 
like  .a  sentinel  in 
the  same  place.  He 
seemed  never  to 
sleep,  and  I  know  he  Baby  pewee  fast  asleep 

spent  every  clear  night  on   the  ridge-pole. 

When  the  little  ones  were  hatched,  most 
of  the  feeding  seemed  to  be  done  by  the 
mother.  True,  the  father  would  catch  his 
meal  in  a  short  flight  out  from  his  perch  and 
back  again  in  true  flycatcher  fashion,  and 
93 


NESTLINGS    OF    FOREST  AND    MARSH 

dodge  down  with  it  to  the  babies ;  but 
usually  it  was  the  mother  who  fluttered 
back  and  forth  with  tiny  bugs  for  the  brood. 
There  were  five  pretty  nestlings  in  that  one 
small  house,  scarcely  big  enough  for  two. 
As  they  grew  larger,  the  wee  mother  seemed 
to  sit  up  on  a  platform  of  tiny  heads. 
After  a  time  she  was  crowded  out  onto  the 
very  rim. 

One  bright  morning  I  missed  the  little 
father  from  his  post,  and  went  to  see  what 
had  become  of  him.  He  sat  on  the  extreme 
end  of  the  hoisting-beam,  with  two  babies 
beside  him  ;  and  there  the  three  remained 
all  day  until  darkness  covered  them.  The 
three  babies  yet  in  the  nest  were  the  objects 
of  much  solicitude  to  the  anxious  mother. 
She  hardly  dared  leave  them,  either  from 
fear  that  they  would  fly  or  anxiety  lest  they 
would  not.  At  the  foot  of  the  bluff  were 
countless  myriads  of  insects,  and  there  the 
swallows  flew  in  circles,  sometimes  almost 
striking  the  ground  in  their  swift  downward 
curves.  The  mother  did  not  join  them 
94 


PHQEBES   AND    THEIR    COUSINS 

that  day,  but  by  short  fluttering  flights  evi- 
dently managed  to  fill  her  beak  and  keep 
the  nestlings  fed.  Whenever  she  left  them 
the  father  called  "Phoebe,  Phoebe,"  with 
greater  energy  than  ever.  At  length,  with- 
out any  warning  apparent  to  my  dull  ears, 
one  of  the  young  birds  decided  to  fly.  He 
stood  up,  quivered  his  wings  a  brief  moment, 
and  plunged  headlong  out  with  blind  flutter- 
ing. In  some  way  the  father  was  under 
him  as  soon  as  he  started,  and  together  they 
landed  in  the  projecting  branches  of  a  tree 
half-way  down  the  bluff.  As  soon  as  this 
youngster  was  safely  settled,  back  flew  the 
little  father  to  the  one  left  on  the  beam,  fed 
him,  and  coaxed  him  to  fly.  He  had  already 
sat  there  twenty-four  hours,  and  -needed 
little  coaxing  to  leave.  The  family  was 
divided,  the  first  two  going  with  the  father 
and  the  three  in  the  nest  being  cared  for 
entirely  by  the  mother.  In  two  days  more 
they  had  flown  also,  and  the  pretty  home 
was  deserted. 

The  wood  pewee  seems   to  me  like  the 
95 


NESTLINGS    OF   FOREST  AND    MARSH 

descendant  of  a  "younger  son  "  of  the  Phoebe 
family.  Their  song  bears  a  strong  family 
resemblance,  but  is  voiced  in  a  plaintive 
minor  key  expressing  some  weight  of  woe 
which  lies  heavy  on  that  tiny  heart.  He  is 
not  always  sad,  however,  for  when  the  wee 
olive  sweetheart  has  consented  to  be  his,  the 
music  fairly  bubbles  from  his  throat  in 
ecstasy. 

The  only  brood  I  ever  watched  had  dimin- 
ished to  one  before  I  found  it,  and  that  one 
was  nearly  ready  to  fly.  We  could  see  his 
pretty  head  over  the  edge  of  the  dainty 
nest  on  the  lowest  branch  of  an  oak-tree. 
The  father  was  very  proud  of  him,  and 
exceedingly  anxious  when  we  borrowed  him 
to  photograph.  Of  course  to  him  he  was 
the  brightest  and  handsomest  of  babies,  but 
to  me  he  seemed  unusually  stupid.  In  spite 
of  all  we  could  do,  he  insisted  on  going  fast 
to  sleep  on  the  perch,  looking  as  ragged  and 
distressed  as  possible.  The  sun  shone  very 
bright  and  warm  upon  him,  and  possibly 
this  was  a  pewee's  method  of  taking  a  sun- 


PHCEBES    AND    THEIR   COUSINS 

bath  ;  but  instead  of  leaning  sidewise,  as  most 
birds  do,  he  nodded  forward  and  seemed 
about  to  fall  over. 

He  could  call  his  name  almost  as  well  as 
his  father  when  he  chose,  and  he  usually  did 


Dainty  nest  of  the  wood  pewee 

choose.  The  interpretation  evidently  was 
<£  Feed  me  !  Feed  me  !  "  and  brought  about 
the  desired  result.  The  mother  had  prob- 
ably met  with  a  tragic  end,  for  we  never  saw 
her  at  the  nest,  and  the  father  took  entire 
care  of  the  little  orphan.  When  we  put  him 
back  after  photographing  him,  he  snuggled 
down  as  if  relieved  to  be  again  at  home,  and 
made  no  attempt  to  leave  it  for  four  more 
days.  On  the  fifth  day  he  was  gone,  but 
7  97 


NESTLINGS    OF    FOREST  AND    MARSH 

hidden  in  the  neighborhood,  for  a  mournful 
"  Feed  me  !  Feed  me  !  "  came  from  the  tree 
as  we  drove  under  it  in  leaving. 

The  nest,  which  was  taken  later,  was 
badly  smashed  at  the  side,  as  if  some  larger 
bird,  possibly  a  jay,  had  meddled  with  it, 
and  the  lining  was  entirely  out  of  it,  expos- 
ing the  bare  branches  to  view  in  the  bottom. 
I  wondered  by  what  heroism  that  tiny  father 
had  defended  and  saved  one  nestling  from 
the  fate  that  had  overtaken  the  mother  and 
the  others. 


98 


THE    HOUSE    BEAUTIFUL 

Then  from  the  honeysuckle  gray 
The  oriole  with  experienced  quest 
Twitches  the  fibrous  bark  away, 
The  cordage  of  his  hammock  nest, 
Cheering  his  labor  with  a  note 
Rich  as  the  orange  of  his  throat. 

LOWELL. 

FROM  the  outermost  tip  of  an  oak-tree 
branch  on  the  sunny  side  of  a  hill, 
swung  the  pretty  silken  cradle  of  these 
orioles.  The  unusually  brilliant  plumage 
of  the  father  bird  and  his  glorious  song  were 
the  subject  of  much  admiring  comment  long 
before  he  chose  this  nesting-site,  and  when 
he  brought  his  little  mate  to  that  tree  and 
inspected  its  facilities  by  hanging  chickadee 
fashion  from  the  tip  of  that  very  branch,  I 
held  my  breath  in  ecstasy  of  hope.  Now 
orioles  do  not  like  to  build  in  an  oak,  for 
two  reasons  :  it  is  the  foraging  ground  of 
squirrels  who  gather  the  acorns ;  and  the 
branches,  being  less  pliant,  afford  a  better 
99 


NESTLINGS    OF    FOREST   AND    MARSH 

foothold  for  despoilers  of  the  pretty  nest. 
Swung  from  the  slender  swaying  twigs  of 
an  elm,  it  would  be  practically  inaccessible  to 
all  foes.  But  elms  are  few  in  that  locality, 
and  the  orioles  decided  that  if  the  nest  were 
made  extra  deep  and  very  small  at  the  top, 
it  would  be  comparatively  safe  even  in  an 
oak.  Next  in  order  was  to  win  his  sweet- 
heart to  his  way  of  thinking.  It  was  his 
first  courting,  I  am  sure,  for  never  did  such 
ardor  pour  from  a  bird's  throat. 

The  course  of  true  love  never  does  run 
smooth,  however,  and  his  wooing  was  no 
exception.  In  spite  of  fine  feathers  and 
fine  song,  the  lady  of  his  choice  was  hard 
to  please,  and  for  more  than  two  weeks  he 
was  untiring  in  his  attentions  before  she 
finally  consented  to  commence  housekeeping. 
After  many  visits  and  much  talking  it  over, 
he  appeared  one  day  with  a  long  strip  of 
honeysuckle  bark,  and  in  some  way  coaxed 
it  to  stay  wound  around  the  twig,  one  end 
hanging  down  straight.  After  that  he  came 
constantly  with  silvery  bits  of  plant  fibre, 

IOO 


THE    HOUSE    BEAUTIFUL 

which  his  mate  wove  busily  back  and  forth, 
until  by  magic  the  exquisite  nest  took  shape. 
We  saw  him  pull  and  tug  at  the  dead  weed- 
stalks,  coming  back  to  the  same  plant  again 


The  beautiful  and  the  grotesque 

and  again  for  more.  Clover  stems  con- 
tribute their  share  of  silk  also.  Although 
there  were  many  feathers  on  the  ground, 
he  never  touched  them,  and  string  was  also 
scornfully  rejected.  One  whole  afternoon 
he  spent  gathering  dandelion  silk  by  jump- 
ing on  the  tall  stems  and  walking  along 
until  his  weight  brought  the  heads  to  the 


101 


NESTLINGS   OF    FOREST  AND    MARSH 

ground,  where  he  seemed  to  thrash  the 
seeds  out  and  carry  away  the  silk  in  triumph. 
Funniest  of  all  was  it  to  watch  him  tug  at 
a  long  horse  hair  that  had  become  fastened 
in  the  bark  of  a  tree.  Bracing  himself  on 
the  side  of  the  trunk,  woodpecker  fashion, 
scolding  all  the  time,  and  finally  swinging 
off  and  around  in  the  arc  of  a  circle  in  his 
efforts  to  loosen  it,  he  would  not  give  it  up. 
Several  times  he  withdrew,  tired  out,  only  to 
renew  the  attack  as  soon  as  he  had  "  caught 
his  breath  again."  No  other  hair  would  do, 
and  there  was  general  rejoicing  when  he  at 
last  flew  away  with  it.  This  and  countless 
other  hairs,  he  used  to  stiffen  the  nest  and 
hold  it  in  shape. 

During  this  time  the  female  carried  com- 
paratively little  material,  but  did  all  the 
weaving.  The  male  seemed  to  help  to  pad  it 
inside  with  the  lining  material,  disappearing 
entirely  within  the  nest,  but  Madam  attended 
to  all  the  outside  ornamentation.  Not  a 
piece  of  string  of  any  kind,  not  a  bit  of  rag 
or  paper  was  used  in  it.  Only  plant  fibre 

IO2 


THE    HOUSE    BEAUTIFUL 

of  the  clearest  silkiest  texture,  dandelion 
down,  and  red  clover  silk.  This  was  the 
more  remarkable  because  only  a  short  dis- 
tance away  we  found  a  nest  made  mostly  of 
fishline  woven  in  with  a  cotton  necktie,  and 
lined  with  colored  calico  ravellings.  Also 
white  hairs  were  used  for  the  first,  and  any 
sort  in  the  second.  One  nest  was  beautiful, 
the  other  ugly  but  curious.  What  instinct 
in  the  brains  of  those  two  little  builders  led 
them  to  choose  so  differently  ?  Why  was 
one  home  artistic  and  the  other  a  hotch- 
potch ?  Was  the  one  an  attempt  to  imitate 
a  hornet's  nest  for  better  protection,  or  was 
the  builder  really  impelled  by  a  sense  of 
beauty  ?  Did  the  second  builder  think  to 
make  his  home  look  like  a  bunch  of  rags  acci- 
dentally caught  in  a  tree,  or  was  it  on  account 
of  greater,  ease  in  obtaining  the  necktie  and 
fishline,  or  were  they  more  beautiful  to  his 
eyes  on  account  of  the  color  ?  Who  can 
tell  what  the  thought  of  a  bird  may  be? 
For  some  reason,  perhaps  because  of  its 
shallowness  and  wide  top,  the  brood  in  the 
103 


NESTLINGS    OF    FOREST   AND    MARSH 

necktie  nest  were  stolen  by  a  blue  jay  one  by 
one,  while  the  other  little  ones  were  success- 
fully reared  to  adult  oriole-hood,  —  not, 
however,  without  great  vigilance  on  the 
part  of  the  father.  I  had  supposed  him  to 
be  remarkably  amiable,  but  now  he  was  a 
veritable  Thibetan  guarding  his  sacred  city. 
Harsh  scolding  notes  mingled  with  his  sweet 
music  all  day  long,  and  any  intrusion  by 
man  or  bird  was  greeted  with  a  volley  of 
chucks  so  sharp  and  so  rapidly  exploded  as 
to  remind  one  of  fire-crackers  under  a  tin 
pan. 

When  we  judged  there  might  be  eggs,  the 
Man  with  the  Camera  climbed  the  oak-tree, 
and  by  a  skilful  use  of  twine  bent  the  branch 
so  that  he  could  look  into  it.  Five  white 
eggs  marked  with  black  lay  there.  Ten 
days  later  he  looked  again,  and  four  little 
mouths  were  stretched  up  for  food.  A  week 
later  they  appeared  over  the  top  of  the  nest, 
reaching  up  one  at  a  time,  and  then  quickly 
disappearing  as  the  mother  was  heard  scold- 
ing on  her  way  home. 
104 


THE    HOUSE    BEAUTIFUL 

About  this  time  she  seemed  uneasy  as 
night  came  on.  The  nest  was  evidently 
crowded  and  the  babies  very  restless,  for, 
after  many  trials  to  settle  herself  inside  the 
little  home,  she  came  outside  and  rested  on 


Fluffy  baby  orioles 

the  end  of  the  branch,  her  head  over  the 
nest.  Occasionally  a  little  head  would 
reach  up,  only  to  receive  a  sharp  reproving 
peck  from  her.  She  kept  up  an  intermittent, 
half-fretful,  half-soothing  gurgling  note,  un- 
less the  father  was  singing  near,  when  she 
appeared  to  be  quite  content.  This  con- 
tinued for  several  days  until,  one  fine  morn- 
ing, a  youngster  actually  succeeded  in 
balancing  himself  outside  the  nest. 
I05 


NESTLINGS    OF   FOREST  AND    MARSH 

A  young  bird  learning  to  perch  is  an  odd 
sight.  At  first  he  seems  to  pitch  forward 
most  alarmingly,  then,  when  he  has  righted 
himself,  a  gust  of  wind  or  an  incautious 
movement  carries  the  centre  of  gravity  too 
far  back,  and  he  hangs  over  like  a  trick- 
performer  on  a  horizontal  bar.  Sometimes 
he  over-reaches  and  tumbles  ignominiously 
to  the  friendly  arms  of  the  next  branch,  or 
even  to  the  ground.  No  such  fate  befell 
the  young  oriole.  His  feathers  were  all  in 
trim,  and  but  for  down  on  the  sides  of  his 
head  and  the  shortness  of  his  tail  he  was  the 
image  of  his  mother.  No  sooner  had  he 
taken  his  position  outside  the  parental  roof 
than  the  world  looked  so  big  that  he  was 
frightened  and  began  to  call  for  help. 
Instantly  both  parents  were  beside  him, 
feeding  and  comforting  him.  This  he  en- 
joyed so  much  that  the  moment  they  left  he 
cried  again,  and  so  piteously  that  they  were 
forced  to  return.  After  that,  like  a  naughty 
child  who  has  discovered  that  crying  brings 
the  desired  result,  that  young  oriole  raised  his 
106 


THE    HOUSE    BEAUTIFUL 

voice  and  wings  in  constant  demand  for 
food,  until  I  felt  sure  that  the  tired  father 
must  long  for  night  to  come. 

The  three  other  nestlings  were  slower  in 
leaving  home,  but  after  a  wait  of  two  days 
they  flew  one  each  day  until  all  were  out. 
As  fast  as  they  left  the  nest  the  father  took 
them  in  charge,  and  left  the  cares  of 
home  to  the  mother.  I  often  pitied  him 
as  he  flew  from  branch  to  branch  closely 
pursued  by  those  three  hungry  nestlings,  all 
begging  for  food  at  once.  Not  for  one 
moment  were  they  silent  or  satisfied.  With 
wings  quivering  and  mouths  wide  open, 
they  were  ever  close  behind  him,  and  I 
marvelled  many  times  at  his  untiring  patience. 
His  stronger  wings  would  easily  have  carried 
him  out  of  their  reach,  but  he  was  their  willing 
slave.  When  the  fourth  baby  was  out,  his 
life  became  somewhat  easier,  for  the  mother 
bird  shared  his  cares.  It  was  at  this  time 
one  afternoon,  just  as  the  sun  was  getting 
too  low  for  best  work  with  the  camera,  that 
we  were  able  to  catch  this  family  one  by  one 
107 


NESTLINGS    OF   FOREST  AND    MARSH 

and  get  a  photograph  of  them.  They  were 
easily  posed,  and  the  affair  was  attended 
with  less  interference  on  the  part  of  the 
parents  than  one  would  suppose. 

This  particular  male  oriole  had  a  greater 
variety  of  song  than  any  I  have  watched. 
The  "  Love  Song"  early  in 
the  morning,  when  his  mate 
brooded  the  little  eggs, 
seemed  to  say,  "  Here  am 
I,  here  am  I,  dear,  dear." 
A  little  later  this  was  inter- 
spersed with  a  peculiar 
whistle  of  three  notes  and 


Contentment 


were  hatched,  it  changed  to  a  rising  inflec- 
tion and  three  notes.  But  many  were  the 
variations  during  the  long  June  day.  Often 
have  I  hurried  out  of  doors  at  the  call  of  a 
new  bird  note,  only  to  find  that  the  singer 
was  my  oriole.  How  could  I  recognize  him  ? 
By  the  redness  of  the  orange  at  his  throat  and 
his  trim  slender  body.  This  was,  I  think, 
his  first  experience  in  family  cares. 
1  08 


THE    HOUSE    BEAUTIFUL 

The  inmates  of  the  other  oriole  home 
were  less  fortunate  than  these,  for  when 
the  babies  were  first  hatched  a  cat  caught  the 
mother  while  she  was  getting  food  on  the 
ground.  The  father  had  not  seen  the  tra- 
gedy, and  for  thirty-six  hours  he  called  her 
continually  in  a  plaintive  descending  whistle. 
Not  once  did  he  sing  or  utter  a  joyous  note, 
but  called  far  into  the  night,  as  if  wondering 
why  she  did  not  come.  He  tried  to  take 
her  place  with  the  little  ones.  I  saw  him 
carry  food  at  intervals  of  three  minutes 
during  most  of  the  day,  and  I  am  positive 
he  slept  that  night  in  the  nest,  a  thing  male 
orioles  are  not  supposed  to  do.  But  be- 
cause only  one  parent  was  there  to  watch,  a 
cannibal  blue  jay  found  those  babies  in  the 
father's  absence  and  carried  them  off,  one 
each  morning,  to  a  tree  quite  near  and  ate 
them.  It  has  been  hard  not  to  hate  the  jays 
since  then,  and  I  am  ready  to  accuse  them 
of  many  of  the  robberies  committed  in  the 
bird-world.  Strange  as  it  may  seem,  the 
oriole  did  not  mourn  the  loss  of  his  nest- 
109 


NESTLINGS    OF    FOREST    AND    MARSH 

lings  as  he  had  mourned  that  of  his  mate. 
Perhaps  he  felt  unequal  to  the  task  of 
bringing  up  a  family  alone,  and  was  re- 
lieved when,  through  no  fault  of  his,  the 
burden  was  lifted. 


no 


A    FOSTER    BABY 

Joyous  as  morning 
Thou  art  laughing  and  scorning. 

WORDSWORTH. 

A  MOST  bewitching  bird  is  the  fluffy 
little  chickadee  of  kindergarten  fame, 
so  jolly,  so  debonair,  so  confiding  withal. 
Watch  him,  hanging  head  downward  from 
the  tip  of  a  twig  so  slender  that  it  bends 
with  his  weight.  With  a  comical  air  of  busi- 
ness he  hunts  under  each  leaf,  yet  is  instantly 
alert  to  your  approach.  Now  he  has  spied 
you,  and  greets  you  with  a  title  to  which  you 
may  never  have  aspired.  "  A  dee  dee !  a 
dee  dee  !  "  he  cries  in  mockery,  until  you 
laugh  too,  it  is  all  so  absurd.  If  you  are 
patient  he  will  come  nearer  and  enter  into 
quite  a  chat  with  you,  provided  you  can  reply 
in  his  own  language. 

It  had  long  been  the  desire  of  my  heart  to 
find  a  chickadee's  nest ;  so  when,  on  the  tenth 


1 1 1 


NESTLINGS    OF   FOREST   AND    MARSH 

day  of  May,  a  small  gray  bird  with  a  mouthful 
of  worms  disappeared  in  a  thorn-bush,  I  at 
once  investigated.  Did  not  all  the  books 
tell  me  that  chickadees  nested  in  hollow 
trees  or  old  stumps,  in  old  woodpeckers' 
holes,  or  holes  excavated  by  themselves  in 
birch-trees  ?  Why  look  for  a  nest  in  a 
thorn-bush  ?  But  there  at  the  foot  of  the 
bush,  well  hidden  by  the  thick  branches, 
was  the  rotten  stump  of  a  small  tree,  and 
in  one  side,  only  twelve  inches  from  the 
ground,  a  small  hole.  Could  this  be  my 
treasure  found  at  last?  Cautiously  I  probed 
it  with  a  grass  stem.  The  intrusion  was 
greeted  with  such  a  storm  of  hisses  as  left 
no  room  for  doubt.  Retreating  at  once  to  a 
discreet  distance,  I  sat  down  to  watch.  Now, 
what  may  constitute  a  discreet  distance  dif- 
fers with  the  innate  valor  of  the  individual 
chickadee.  This  particular  pair  were  exceed- 
ingly timid,  and  would  not  go  to  the  nest 
until  I  had  gone  thirty  feet  away.  Then 
the  mother  bird,  with  much  hesitation,  flew 
to  the  thorn-bush,  looked  about,  talked  a 


112 


A   FOSTER    BABY 


bit,  hopped  down  near  the  nest  hole,  and 
finally,  after  several  trials,  ventured  in.  Thus 
encouraged,  the  father,  who  had  watched  anx- 
iously, came  with  food  immediately  on  her 
departure.  As  they  became  accustomed  to 
my  presence,  they  gathered  worms  and  flies 
from  the  tree  above  my  head,  carrying  them 
quite  fearlessly  to  the  nestlings,  but  always 
pausing  to  look  back  at  me  from  the  door- 
way on  entering  or  leaving.  Taking  a  straw- 
berry from  my  lunch-box  and  stringing  it  on 
a  stem  of  timothy,  I  hung  it  on  the  bush 
near  the  doorway.  They  were  curious,  and 
flew  about,  over  and  under  it ;  but  either 
they  suspected  a  trap,  or  strawberries  are 
not  to  a  chickadee's  taste,  for  it  remained 
untouched. 

It  being  too  late  to  see  more  that  night, 
I  went  home  resolved  to  renew  the  acquaint- 
ance the  next  day.  Five  A.  M.  found  me  an 
early  caller  at  the  chickadee's  door,  but  the 
dwelling  was  empty.  Evidently  the  nest- 
lings were  older  than  the  calendar  would 
have  indicated  as  proper  in  a  well-regulated 

8  113 


NESTLINGS    OF    FOREST  AND    MARSH 

chickadee  family,  for   all    had   flown.     The 
nest,  lined  with  a  soft  felting  of  rabbit  hair, 

was  yet  warm,  and 
having  watched 
other  mother  birds 
carry  the  excrement 
away  from  the  nest, 
I  was  not  surprised 
to  find  it  as  clean  as 
though  four  babies 
had  not  just  left  it. 
Disappointed  and 
discouraged,  I  turn- 
ed away.  A  walk 
through  fragrant 
catbirds'  nooks  and 
close  by  a  brown 

Location  of  chickadee's  nest  broodin 


her  young,  brought  me  to  a  grove  of  tall 
oaks  and  hickories.  Deep  ravines  purple 
with  wild  geranium,  white  with  long-fruited 
anemones,  and  beautiful  with  ferns,  ran 
zigzag  through  it.  Just  the  place  for 
whip-poor-will's  eggs,  I  thought.  At  this 
114 


A    FOSTER    BABY 


moment,  from  a  hole  in  the  side  of  a  low 
stump  just  in  front  of  me,  out  popped  a 
chickadee  !  Another  nest !  This  bird  was 
not  at  all  afraid,  and  sat  on  top  of  the  stump 
only  two  feet  from  the  ground,  evidently 
annoyed  yet  not  disposed  to  resent  the  in- 
trusion. He  seemed  to  divine  that  my 
interest  was  friendly,  for  after  a  moment 
he  was  off,  hunting  flies  and  small  green 
worms  on  a  neighboring  tree.  Lying  down 
close  by,  I  watched  his  diplomatic  manoeu- 
vres through  half-closed  eyes.  He  came 
very  near  on  a  branch  which  hung  low  over 
me,  chattering  and  scolding  saucily  in  great 
curiosity.  Evidently  he  was  suspicious,  and 
wished  to  prove  the  reality  of  my  feigned 
sleep.  Picking  up  worm  after  worm,  he  ate 
them  in  full  view,  as  if  to  convince  me  that 
the  chief  end  of  his  existence  was  to  satisfy 
his  own  hunger.  But  I  knew  better.  That 
small  round  hole  in  the  stump  guarded 
treasures  infinite,  and  sooner  or  later  father 
love  would  prevail  against  discretion.  Mean- 
while the  mother  bird,  for  so  I  judged  her 


NESTLINGS    OF   FOREST  AND    MARSH 

from  her  ruffled  feathers,  had  been  dodging 
silently  in  and  out,  carrying  little  white  butter- 
flies, spiders'  eggs,  and  fat  worms  to  those 
chickadee  babies.  Very  soon  the  father, 
tired  of  enforced  idleness,  joined  her,  and 
for  hours  both  parents  flew  into  the  nest 
with  food  every  five  minutes. 

I  went  home  for  luncheon  that  day,  and 
on  the  way  back  to  the  chickadee  friends 
with  my  camera  in  the  afternoon,  I  found 
the  hero  of  this  story,  one  of  the  young 
chickadees  of  the  brood  first  discovered. 
He  was  an  innocent-looking,  soft,  appeal- 
ingly  helpless  baby,  as  he  sat  motionless  in 
a  shrub  near  his  old  nursery  home.  As  I 
put  my  hand  down  over  him,  he  looked 
up  in  an  astonished  way,  but  made  no  effort 
to  avoid  me.  I  carried  him  over  to  the 
second  chickadee  nest,  nearly  half  a  mile 
away,  and  put  him  in  the  grass  at  the  foot 
of  the  stump.  At  once  the  owners  of  the 
home  were  much  excited.  "  Why,  how  did 
you  get  out?  You  are  not  big  enough  to 
fly  !  We  must  feed  you  at  once,"  they 
116 


A   FOSTER    BABY 


seemed  to  say ;  and  the  little  fellow  chirped 
"  Feed  me  !  Feed  me  !  "  They  did  not 
seem  to  know  he  was  not  their  son,  and, 
deserting  the  little  ones  in  their  own  nest, 
both  foster  parents  carried  food  to  him  until 
he  shut  his  eyes  in  very  surfeit  and  went 
to  sleep.  This  continued  at  intervals  all 
day.  Several  times,  fearing  the  babies  in 
the  nest  would  suffer,  I  caught  him  and 
held  him  captive  in  a  box,  an  hour  at  a 
time.  Once  he  had  flown  up  above  my 
head  in  a  tree,  but  with  coaxing  he  perched 
upon  a  bare  branch  which  I  held,  and  allowed 
me  to  bring  him  down.  He  did  not  usually 
object  to  being  caught,  although  strong  in 
flight  and  apparently  able  to  care  for  him- 
self. I  put  him  in  the  nest  of  his  foster 
parents,  but  he  immediately  hopped  out  and 
stood  on  the  edge.  Here  they  were  most 
assiduous  in  bringing  him  food,  and  were 
evidently  very  proud  of  the  fine  strong  little 
fellow. 

Meanwhile,  as   he   flew   bewildered   from 
bush  to   tree,  he   landed   on  the   side  of  a 
117 


NESTLINGS    OF    FOREST  AND   MARSH 

trunk  and  clung  helplessly,  crying  in  a  pite- 
ous, frightened  way.  Instantly  the  foster 
mother  was  at  his  side  with  a  bit  of  food 
and  a  soft  note  of  comfort.  "  Never  mind, 
dear,  I  'm  here."  Nor  would  she  leave  him 
until  after  many  trials  he  reached  a  safer 
perch. 

This  pair  were  utterly  unlike  the  real 
parents  in  being  bold  and  dashing,  careless 
of  danger,  heedless  of  our  presence,  and  the 
pictures  were  secured  with  the  photographer 
only  a  short  distance  from  the  birds. 

It  was  a  great  temptation  to  cut  open  the 
newly  found  nest  and  photograph  the  entire 
family.  The  Man  with  the  Camera  has  since 
regretted  that  any  scruples  prevented.  How- 
ever, a  knowledge  that  we  could  not  equal 
Mr.  Chapman's  inimitable  group  of  nine 
young  chickadees  at  the  nest  hole,  together 
with  a  resolve  to  molest  nothing  unless 
absolutely  necessary,  restrained  us.  It  is 
sometimes  most  inconvenient,  this  having  a 
conscience.  We  never  again  have  had  such 
an  opportunity  to  picture  chickadee  babies. 
118 


A    FOSTER    BABY 


On  our  way  home  that  night,  I  put  the 
young  chickadee  in  my  lunch-box,  cutting 
slits  in  the  cover,  and  carried  him  back  to 
his  own  parents  in  the  other  grove,  where, 
having  placed  the  box  on  its  side  in  a  tree, 
I  hid  to  watch.  He  called;  they  answered 
and  were  there  at  once,  trying  to  help 
him  to  get  out.  They  pulled,  and  he  pushed 
to  loosen  the  bars.  Failing  in  that,  they 
fed  him,  though  not  so  eagerly  nor  so  fear- 
lessly as  his  foster  parents  had  done.  One 
stood  on  guard,  while  the  other  carried  food 
to  the  little  prisoner.  All  at  once,  without 
apparent  cause  or  warning,  they  both  flew 
away  and  ceased  to  call  or  notice  him.  In 
amazement  I  took  the  little  fellow  out  of 
the  box  and  placed  him  near  them,  but 
they  merely  flew  farther  away  and  seemed 
to  watch  curiously,  with  no  idea  of  protect- 
ing or  caring  for  him.  I  saw  his  little  head 
droop  and  thought  him  sleepy.  A  moment 
later  his  wings  quivered  and  he  fell  from 
the  twig  dead.  Horrified,  blaming  myself 
for  unconscious  cruelty,  I  picked  him  up 
119 


NESTLINGS   OF   FOREST   AND   MARSH 

and  tried  to  revive  him,  but  without  success. 
A  half-swallowed  cedar  worm  seemed  to  tell 
the  story.  Unwilling  to  leave  him  captive 
in  the  box  and  unable  to  free  him,  his  brave 
little  father  had  brought  him  poisoned  food. 
Where  had  he  learned  such  wisdom,  if 
wisdom  it  be  ?  And  how  did  he  realize 
that  the  little  one  was  beyond  his  help  ? 
And  having  given  him  the  fatal  dose,  why 
leave  him  ?  This  is  not  imagination,  but 
fact,  attested  by  several  witnesses.  Yet  who 
can  riddle  me  the  how  and  the  why?  Never 
since  then  have  I  had  the  courage  for  further 
experiments  along  that  line. 


120 


MARSH    CRADLES 

Dear  marshes !     Vain  to  him  the  gift  of  sight 
Who  cannot  in  their  various  incomes  share, 
From  every  season  drawn,  of  shade  and  light, 
Who  sees  in  them  but  levels  brown  and  bare. 
Each  change  of  storm  or  sunshine  scatters  free 
On  them  its  largess  of  variety, 

For  Nature  with  cheap  means  still  works  her  wonders 
rare.  LOWELL. 

A  TRAMP  through  the  marshes  at 
four  A.  M.,  w^ist-deep  in  the  lush 
wild  grass,  the  mists  veiling  the  wonderful 
unseen  beyond,  and,  in  the  near  distance, 
the  pink  of  the  mallows,  the  purple  of  the  iris, 
and  the  yellow  of  the  marigold  still  heavy 
with  the  dew,  reflecting  the  glories  of  the 
sunrise  sky  ;  to  hear  the  bird  chorus  as  you 
never  hear  it  at  any  other  hour  of  the  day  ;  to 
see  the  birds  waken,  stretch  their  little  wings, 
and  enjoy  a  morning  bath,  splashing  and 
dashing  as  if  they  could  never  have  enough 
of  the  cool  fresh  water ;  to  watch  them 
shake  and  preen  their  little  wet  feathers  as 


121 


NESTLINGS    OF   FOREST    AND   MARSH 

they  sit  swinging  on  the  cat-tails ;  to  follow 
their  flight  over  the  glistening  green,  dip- 
ping, rising,  circling  in  matchless  curves,  — 
is  not  all  this  well  worth  the  sacrifice  of  a 
morning  nap  ? 

But  the  marsh  is  a  faithful  keeper  and 
guards  its  secrets  well.  Much  hard  work, 
many  discomforts,  some  danger,  and  small 
success  will  often  be  the  sum  total  of  a  day 
spent  there.  The  little  marsh  people  are 
shy  and  very,  very  wily.  Of  twenty-nine 
marsh  wren's  nests  examined  in  one  day 
only  one  had  eggs  in  it,  the  rest  being  either 
dummy  or  last  year's  nests.  Afterwards 
the  same  proportion  was  encountered  in 
another  marsh. 

The  nest  we  had  chosen  to  watch  was  in 
the  centre  of  a  little  island  of  rushes  sepa- 
rated from  the  main  marsh  by  a  passage 
just  wide  enough  to  punt  a  duckboat 
through.  Here  we  lay,  partly  concealed, 
while  the  anxious  little  father  scolded  and 
sang  by  turns,  and  then  with  deliberate 
intention  to  deceive,  commenced  to  build  a 

122 


MARSH    CRADLES 


dummy  nest  in  full  view  of  us.  Evidently 
his  heart  was  not  in  his  work,  or  our  pres- 
ence made  him  nervous,  for  it  was  not  well 
done  and  he  left  it  one-third  completed  to 
commence  another  a  few  feet  farther  away. 
This  was  repeated  day  after  day,  until  four 
had  been  started  and  two  finished  in  a 
radius  of  ten  feet  by  the  same  industrious 
builder.  All  the  material  brought  was  wet, 
having  just  been  picked  from  the  water. 
He  was  a  handsome  happy  little  chap,  in  a 
coat  of  brightest  brown  and  cream  buff, 
much  more  attractive  than  his  relative,  the 
short-billed  marsh  wren,  and  more  musi- 
cal. The  song  of  the  short-billed  is  like  a 
shrill  childish  chatter,  only  ceasing  from' 
lack  of  breath,  while  the  long-billed  is  a 
clear,  silvery  tinkle  like  a  chime  of  silver 
bells.  The  nests  can  scarcely  be  distin- 
guished, but  I  think  those  of  the  long-billed 
are  more  carefully  concealed  and  less  likely 
to  be  "  dummy/' 

Not  once  did  he  go  near  his  real  treasure. 
The    four  beautiful    tiny   brown   eggs  were 
123 


NESTLINGS    OF   FOREST  AND    MARSH 

housed  in  the  oldest,  most  tumble-down 
house  of  them  all.  One  would  never  sus- 
pect it  of  being  selected  for  a  home  among 
so  many  fresh  green  new  ones.  The  door- 
way also  was  on  the  inland  side,  so  that  it 
looked  to  be  only  a  ball  of  dried  water- 
grass  among  the  rushes.  The  doors  of  the 
dummy  nests,  on  the  contrary,  were  usually 
in  plain  view  from  the  lake  and  invited  in- 
spection. The  exposed  position  allowed  the 
fierce  sun  to  beat  upon  the  little  dwelling  in 
full  force,  and  I  wondered  whether  the  thick 
walls  and  roof  were  for  the  purpose  of  shel- 
ter from  the  heat  or  to  protect  from  chill. 
They  are  so  damp  one  would  suppose  the 
eggs  might  all  be  addled,  but  I  have  never 
found  this  to  be  the  case.  Marsh  hawks 
and  musk-rats  cannot  reach  the  eggs  through 
the  tiny  doorway,  so  the  enemies  most  to  be 
feared  are  the  numerous  varieties  of  water- 
snakes.  These  twist  around  the  reeds 
which  support  the  nest,  and  by  their  weight 
break  it  from  its  fastenings,  and  overturn  it 
after  they  have  gorged  themselves  upon  its 
124 


MARSH    CRADLES 


contents.  The  brave  wrens  have  a  serious 
time  guarding  their  homes  from  these  marau- 
ders, and  a  dread  seized  us  each  morning  lest 
the  treasure  in  this  one  be  gone.  But  so 


"  Two  is  company  " 

well  surrounded  and  concealed  was  it  that 
the  brood  was  reared  without  mishaps,  and 
five  little  marsh  wrens  were  safely  launched 
into  a  world  of  waving  green. 

It  took  fifteen  days  for  the  eggs  to  hatch, 
and  afterwards  such  a  long,  long  time  be- 
fore the  first  downy  head  peeped  through 
the  doorway.  The  mother  was  not  a  close 
sitter,  whether  because  of  our  presence  or 
because  she  knew  the  warm  sun  would  help 
in  her  task.  It  was  certainly  steaming  in- 
side that  round  ball,  and  the  tiny  eggs  felt 
I25 


NESTLINGS    OF    FOREST  AND    MARSH 

like  hot  pebbles  to  my  prying  fingers.  She 
left  for  two  hours  at  a  time,  and  this,  with 
an  open  nest  in  a  tree,  would  certainly  prove 
fatal  to  the  eggs  after  incubation  has  begun. 
Often  and  often  I  feared  that  she  had  de- 
serted it  entirely,  and  began  to  reproach 
myself  as  being  the  cause,  but  always,  just 
as  my  conscience  became  seriously  alarmed, 
she  slipped  back,  noiselessly  as  a  wee  brown 
mouse.  I  never  saw  the  father  bring  her 
food  or  notice  her  at  all,  yet  no  move  of 
hers  escaped  his  watchful  eyes. 

On  the  morning  the  first  egg  hatched 
there  was  a  change  in  the  vicinity  of  that 
small  homestead.  The  father,  no  longer  at 
his  post  scolding,  was  either  silently  flitting 
to  the  nest  with  small  bugs  in  his  beak  or 
singing  his  merriest  several  feet  farther  away 
than  usual,  trying  by  every  art  to  attract 
attention  to  himself.  But  we  cautiously 
pushed  up  to  the  doorway,  and  on  finding 
there  were  young,  cut  a  slit  in  the  top  of 
the  nest  to  look  at  them.  Four  naked 
pinky  nestlings,  with  wee  heads,  mere  nobs 
126 


MARSH    CRADLES 


for  eyes,  and  buds  for  wings,  lay  cuddled 
down  within.  After  satisfying  our  curiosity 
we  tied  the  slit  up  with  rushes  and  left  them. 
Before  we  could  push  the  boat  away  the  little 
mother  had  entered  the  nest  not  two  feet 
away  from  us.  Four  day's  later  we  went 
again.  Their  eyes  had  begun  to  open,  and 
a  light  brown  down  covered  their  bodies. 
The  funny  holes  for  ears,  so  apparent  in  all 
naked  young  birds,  were  even  more  con- 
spicuous on  them,  and  the  little  slits  be- 
tween the  eyelids,  only  half  open,  gave  them 
a  very  sleepy  look.  Bill  and  legs  were  a 
soft,  burnt-orange  color,  shading  to  light. 
Fearing  to  disturb  them  too  much  by  pho- 
tographing them  in  their  immature  state,  we 
gently  replaced  them  in  the  nest  and  left 
them  for  another  week. 

Six  days  later  we  visited  the  nest  again, 
and  found  them  so  far  grown  that  one  was 
being  crowded  through  the  doorway  tail  first. 
Again  we  untied  the  slit  and  took  them  out 
one  by  one.  They  were  beautiful  babies  ! 
Exactly  like  their  handsome  little  father. 
127 


NESTLINGS    OF    FOREST  AND    MARSH 

Cream-buff  downy  feathers  covered  the 
breast  and  sides,  merging  into  pure  white  on 
the  belly.  The  head,  wings,  and  tiny  stub 
of  a  tail  were  cinnamon-brown.  Bills  and 
legs  were  still  verging  on  the  burnt-orange 
color,  but  shading  to  darker  rather  than 
light. 

I  said  "  tails/'  but  really  they  had  only 
"  promises "  or  none  at  all,  and  the  rump 
was  alarmingly  bald  through  the  thin  down. 
The  little  oil  sack  could  plainly  be  seen,  and 
was  much  more  conspicuous  than  in  the  case 
of  birds  who  nest  away  from  the  water.  Yet 
I  have  never  known  the  marsh  wrens  to 
bathe  with  unusual  frequency,  or  to  like  the 
water  any  better  than  their  land  cousins. 

As  in  the  case  of  most  young  birds,  we 
had  to  teach  them  to  perch ;  and  a  comical 
task  it  was.  The  tiny  claws  had  never 
learned  to  clasp,  and  yet  by  instinct  they 
fastened  to  the  rushes,  and  the  little  ball  of 
down  tried  to  balance  itself  on  its  uncertain 
little  legs.  I  stood  always  with  a  hand 
ready  to  catch  one  in  case  of  an  unlucky 
128 


MARSH    CRADLES 


tumble.  They  liked  to  cuddle  down  on 
our  fingers  or  hop  up  my  arm  to  the 
shoulder,  and  took  especial  delight  in  hid- 
ing inside  my  shirtwaist  sleeve,  entering  at 
the  wrist,  which  the  heat  had  compelled  me 
to  unfasten. 

They  were  certainly  the  very  prettiest  of 
all  our  bird  babies,  unless  we  except  the 
young  chickadee,  —  when  the  question  be- 
comes a  choice  between  soft  grays  or  browns 
and  white.  Being  so  much  more  helpless 
than  the  chickadees,  they  appealed  to  my 
heart  as  no  other  feathered  babies  ever  have 
done. 

As  soon  as  we  had  placed  them  nicely 
within  focus  of  the  camera  on  the  rushes, 
one  would  decide  to  snuggle  up  a  bit  closer 
to  his  neighbor,  and  the  next  moment  the 
four  would  perform  feats  of  tumbling  not 
seen  in  any  vaudeville.  Some  of  the 
feathers  were  not  entirely  out,  and  this 
seemed  to  bother  them,  for  their  little 
heads  were  constantly  turning  back  in  fran- 
tic efforts  to  preen  their  funny  apologies  for 
9  129 


NESTLINGS    OF    FOREST  AND    MARSH 

wings,  thereby  upsetting  themselves  a  dozen 
times. 

After    photographing    we    followed    our 
usual   rule   and  returned  them  to  the  nest. 


A  handful  of  babies 


Immediately  a  little  head  popped  out  of  the 
doorway,  followed  by  a  ball  of  fluffy  brown 
and  white,  which  scrambled  at  once  up  onto 
the  roof  of  the  little  house  and  sat  there. 
It  was  followed  by  another,  who  did  exactly 
the  same  thing,  except  that  he  tumbled  and 
caught  hold  of  one  of  the  bulrushes,  and 
after  some  struggling  regained  his  balance 
and  reached  a  place  beside  his  brother. 
130 


MARSH    CRADLES 


This  was  their  first  taste  of  freedom,  and 
how  they  revelled  in  it !  Looking  about 
over  the  wide  stretch  of  waving  green  marsh- 
grass,  they  chirped  a  startling  imitation  of 
their  father's  tinkling  song  and  quivered 
with  delight.  Not  once  had  one  of  the  four 
opened  his  mouth  as  if  hungry,  even  when 
left  alone.  After  a  reasonable  length  of  time 
we  tucked  them  back  in  the  nest  again  and, 
tired  out,  they  were  glad  to  stay  there. 

During  the  hour  or  two  we  were  playing 
with  the  babies  the  father  and  mother  re- 
mained within  a  few  feet,  calling  somewhat 
anxiously  but  not  greatly  alarmed.  I  held 
a  little  one  out  on  my  hand  and  went  almost 
up  to  the  mother  before  she  took  wing. 
Had  not  the  great  heat  (106°)  driven  us  out 
of  the  marsh,  I  am  sure  more  patience  in 
waiting  would  have  conquered  her  fear  of 
me,  and  she  would  have  fed  him  on  my 
hand.  Before  we  were  four  feet  away,  she 
had  returned  to  them  with  a  fat  June  bug 
in  her  beak,  and  all  was  serene  again  in  the 
little  home. 


NESTLINGS    OF   FOREST  AND   MARSH 

To  see  the  first  flight  of  those  babies 
required  no  small  effort,  but  we  felt  well 
repaid.  Just  as  the  sun  came  out  from 
behind  the  hills  and  peeped  into  the  small 
round  doorway,  a  tiny  brown  head  appeared, 
then  out  came  the  wee  bird,  evidently  assisted 
from  behind  by  a  too  eager  brother  or 
sister.  He  made  his  way  onto  a  rush  and 
clung  there  until  out  came  a  second,  and 
aiming  for  the  same  perch,  sent  him  tum- 
bling to  another ;  a  third  flew  from  the  door 
to  a  cat-tail  without  mishap.  The  father 
came  near  with  food,  and  called ;  with  con- 
fidence of  ignorance  the  first  baby  let  go 
his  hold,  and  managed,  half  fluttering,  half 
scrambling  over  the  marsh-grass,  to  reach 
the  proffered  breakfast.  The  second  and 
third  were  not  long  in  following  suit,  and 
both  received  well-earned  reward.  Then, 
with  appetites  surfeited,  they  blinked  sleepily 
and  dozed,  while  the  parents,  distracted 
between  guarding  them  and  watching  me, 
were  busy  and  unhappy.  But  where  were 
the  others  ?  No  more  heads  appeared  in 
132 


MARSH    CRADLES 


the  doorway.  A  gentle  shaking  failed  to 
start  any.  A  finger  put  cautiously  in  found 
it  empty.  The  other  two  had  either  been 
stolen  or  had  flown  the  day  before  and  were 
hidden  in  the  grass.  We  searched  as  best 
we  might  and  could  find  no  trace  of  them, 
nor  did  we  see  them  with  the  old  birds 
afterwards,  although  we  kept  watch  for  days. 
Then  we  remembered  having  passed  a  large 
water-snake  coiled  up  on  the  bank  not  far 
from  the  nest  with  a  half-swallowed  bird 
sticking  out  of  his  mouth.  So  disgusting 
was  the  sight  that  I  had  hurried  by  without 
investigating,  never  dreaming  it  might  be 
one  of  my  baby  wrens. 


A    MARSH    MYSTERY 

Shall  I  call  thee  bird, 
Or  but  a  wandering  voice  ? 

WORDSWORTH. 

TO  be  lost  in  the  maze  of  a  wild-rice 
marsh,  although  an  unpleasant  ex- 
perience, is  not  without  its  compensation. 
Usually  the  latter  is  more  apparent  after- 
wards than  during  the  anxiety  of  the  mo- 
ment, but  this  was  not  the  case  on  the  day 
I  heard  and  saw  my  first  sora  rail.  It  was  a 
warm  day  in  early  June  when,  punting  our 
boat  through  a  narrow  channel,  we  made  a 
wrong  turn  and  immediately  lost  our  bearings. 
In  and  out  among  the  rushes  we  pushed  our 
way  only  to  become  more  and  more  be- 
wildered. Not  one  familiar  spot  could  we 
see  ;  not  a  single  bulrush  that  we  had  ever 
passed  before.  Tired  out  at  length,  we 
concluded  to  lie  still  and,  Micawber-like, 
wait  for  something  to  turn  up.  A  hush 


A    MARSH    MYSTERY 


was  over  everything,  the  yellow-headed 
blackbird  had  long  forgotten  to  sing,  when 
suddenly  from  the  water  under  our  boat  or 
from  the  rushes  on  this  side  and  on  that 
came  weird  cries,  not  of  earth  and  certainly 
not  of  heaven.  The  Man  with  the  Camera 
looked  at  me  and  raised  a  warning  ringer 
for  silence.  Breathlessly  I  waited,  expecting 
to  see  nothing  less  than  old  god  Pan  emerge 
from  the  rushes.  Nothing  like  this  had  I 
ever  heard  before,  and  the  possibilities  were 
almost  overpowering.  After  a  long  time, 
during  which  the  strange  noises  continued, 
we  caught  sight  of  something  skulking 
through  the  reeds  at  the  edge  of  the  open 
water.  Our  eyes  interrogatively  telegraphed 
the  one  word  "  Rail  ?  "  and  then  we  watched 
more  breathlessly  than  before.  The  little 
creature  stood  motionless  for  several  min- 
utes, its  dull  plumage  rendering  it  safely 
inconspicuous,  and  only  its  queer  whistling 
call  proclaiming  it  kin  to  the  birds  rather 
than  to  the  little  marsh  people,  —  the 
musk-rats,  frogs,  or  turtles.  Presently  it 


NESTLINGS    OF    FOREST  AND  MARSH 

walked  out  along  the  edge  of  the  bog  with 
a  funny  bobbing  motion  of  its  short  tail,  and 

stood  revealed  to 
us.  Too  small 
for  a  least  bittern, 
it  yet  followed 
somewhat  the 
same  lines  and 
coloring;  but 
here  the  resem- 
blance ended,  for 
the  method  of 
locomotion  was 
quite  different. 
At  every  few 
strides  it  ducked 
its  head  into  the 

Sora  rail's  nest  and  eggs  slimC,        bringing 

out  some  invisible  dainty,  which  it  swallowed 
with  great  eagerness.  A  catch  of  what 
looked  to  be  a  crab  caused  me  to  move 
suddenly,  and  instantly  the  bird  was  skim- 
ming over  the  water,  half  flying,  half  swim- 
ming, uttering  a  shrill  alarm  call  until  it 
136 


A    MARSH    MYSTERY 


disappeared.  Not  so  the  alarm  call.  For 
an  indescribable  medley  of  sounds  arose  on 
all  sides,  —  whistles,  squeals,  squawks,  — 
and  then  a  silence  as  sudden  as  the  alarm 
had  been.  Thinking  there  might  be  a  nest 
near  by,  we  at  once  punted  to  the  spot  where 
we  had  first  seen  the  bird,  and  which  seemed 
somewhat  solid  ;  then,  wading  out  to  a  hump 
that  would  bear  his  weight,  my  companion 
looked  eagerly  about.  Must  we  confess 
that  good  fortune  and  not  science  had  led 
him  to  the  right  place,  and  there,  not  two 
feet  away,  was  the  nest.  Of  the  six  eggs 
all  were  hatched  but  one,  and  the  nest  was 
yet  warm,  showing  how  recently  it  had  been 
occupied.  Diligent  search  failing  to  reveal 
any  trace  of  the  newly  hatched  "  chicks,"  we 
pushed  out  into  the  open  and  lay  down 
in  the  boat  to  await  further  developments. 
"  All  things  come  to  those  who  wait,"  but 
in  the  study  of  wild  life,  whether  of  forest 
or  marsh,  the  one  essential  seems  to  be 
patience  in  waiting,  —  long  and  silent  wait- 
ing. The  sun  had  long  since  passed  the 


NESTLINGS    OF    FOREST  AND  MARSH 


meridian,  and  the  cool  shadows  gathering 
beneath  the  tall  rice  warned  us  that  the  day 
was  waning,  when  suddenly  the  long  silence 
was  broken  by  the  same 
peculiar  noises  as  before. 
Confused  as  to  the  direction 
of  their  source,  we  knew  not 
where  to  look,  when  on  a 
point  of  rush-covered  mud 
flat  that  separated  two  chan- 
nels, we  saw  five  or  six  tiny 
downy  chicks  of  a  glossy 
black,  with  funny 
large  feet  and  necks 
too  long  for  their 
fat  little  bodies. 
Otherwise  they 
looked  exactly  like 
bantam  babies,  and 
ran  about  in  the 
same  lively  fash- 
ion as  their  farm- 
yard cousins,  while 


A  baby  rail 


a  continual 


peep- 


138 


A    MARSH    MYSTERY 


ing "  noise  confirmed  the  resemblance. 
Finally  the  mother  emerged  from  the  denser 
reeds,  and  strutted  about  with  a  queer  minc- 
ing gait  and  self-satisfied  air,  very  much  as  a 
motherly  old  hen  might  do.  Once  she  for- 
got her  dignity  and  ran  post-haste  for  a  bug, 
with  her  long  neck  stretched  out  and  her 
legs  propelling  rather  than  supporting  her 
body.  Undoubtedly  the  male  bird  was  the 
one  who  had  uttered  the  strange  cries,  for 
the  female  was  silent  as  long  as  we  watched 
her. 

To  photograph  this  interesting  family  was 
obviously  impossible,  both  on  account  of 
the  swaying  screen  of  rushes  which  hid  us, 
and  the  fading  light.  Just  as  we  had  de- 
cided to  attempt  the  capture  of  at  least  one 
of  the  five  babies,  we  heard  human  voices 
approaching.  The  rails  heard  also,  and 
vanished  so  utterly  and  so  silently  that  I 
wondered  whether  they  had  really  been  there 
at  all.  Vexatious  as  this  interruption  was,  it 
aroused  us  to  a  sense  of  our  <c  lost "  condi- 
tion, and,  standing  up  to  halloo,  we  saw  the 
'39 


NESTLINGS    OF    FOREST   AND    MARSH 

other  boat  pass  within  a  few  yards  of  us.  No 
time  was  wasted  in  hesitation  ;  we  pushed 
out  and  followed  them,  joining  heartily  in 
the  laugh  at  our  own  expense.  It  was,  to 
be  sure,  a  trifle  humiliating  to  find  that  we 
really  had  not  been  lost  at  all,  for  we  were 
in  the  main  channel.  When  once  out  of  the 
rushes  and  in  the  open  water  of  the  lake,  we 
floated  along  the  edge  of  the  marsh  until  the 
scarlet  and  gold  of  the  sunset  changed  to 
purple  shadows  which,  in  turn,  became  silvery 
mists  beneath  the  moon.  Weird  sounds, 
made  more  ghostly  by  the  hour  and  place, 
came  ever  from  the  waving  wild  rice,  — 
suppressed  grunts,  sighs,  and  moans.  One 
thought  of  the  lost  souls  of  Dante's  In- 
ferno, or  of  Poe's  hideous  imagery, — 

"  They  are  neither  man  nor  woman, 
They  are  neither  brute  nor  human, 
They  are  ghouls/' 

The  unknown  became  the  supernatural,  too 
mysterious  for  comfort,  and  in  spite  of  the 
beauty  of  the  night  a  strange  sense  of  fear 
made  one  long  to  get  away. 
140 


A    MARSH    MYSTERY 


Early  the  next  morning  we  went  again  to 
the  vicinity  of  our  adventure,  hoping  to 
catch  sight  of  the  little  brood ;  but  although 
the  same  queer  noises  were  heard  on  all 


Immature  sora  rail 


sides,  we  saw  nothing  of  the  rails.  Rowing 
around  a  floating  bog,  we  came  suddenly 
upon  a  least  bittern,  who  instantly  stiffened 
into  statue-like  imitation  of  his  surroundings, 
and  trusted  to  his  protective  coloring  to 
escape  notice.  As  we  pushed  toward  him, 
and  he  knew  he  was  discovered,  he  retreated 
through  the  rushes  with  the  strangest  gym- 
nastics. Grasping  a  reed  stalk  in  each  foot, 
he  strode  rapidly  from  stalk  to  stalk,  pausing 
141 


NESTLINGS    OF    FOREST   AND    MARSH 

once  to  look  back  over  his  shoulder,  as  it 
were.  It  was  a  most  comical  exit,  and  de- 
served the  applause  we  dared  not  give. 

Many  times  have  we  sought  to  solve  the 
mystery  of  the  marsh  music,  but  always  with 
small  success,  and  our  next  adventure  with 
the  rails  was  in  our  own  dooryard  at  Evans- 
ton.  Looking  out  of  my  library  window 
one  September  morning,  I  saw  my  small 
kitten  driving  a  young  rail  before  her  by 
cuffing  it  gently,  first  with  one  paw  and  then 
with  the  other.  The  bird  made  no  attempt 
to  escape,  but  soon  turned,  faced  the  kitten, 
and,  lying  down  on  its  back,  fought  with 
both  feet  and  bill.  The  effect  was  as  ridicu- 
lous as  if  a  small  boy  should  turn  at  bay 
and  make  faces  at  a  tormenting  bully,  and 
surprised  the  kitten  into  a  momentary  cessa- 
tion of  the  play,  —  for  such  it  was,  without 
any  idea  of  catching  the  bird.  The  latter 
allowed  me  to  pick  it  up,  and  appeared  nei- 
ther exhausted  nor  frightened.  It  was  an 
immature  specimen,  and  became  tame  at 
once.  In  order  to  have  even  a  moderately 
142 


A    MARSH    MYSTERY 


clear  day  for  photographing  him,  we  were 
obliged  to  keep  him  in  durance  vile  for  three 
weeks,  on  a  diet  of  snails,  ants'  eggs,  and 
hens'  eggs  hard  boiled.  Several  times  he 
escaped,  and  was  recaptured  without  diffi- 
culty. When  the  day  of  his  final  release 
came,  we  took  him  to  the  outskirts  of  a 
prairie,  and  he  flew  farther  and  more  vigor- 
ously than  he  ever  had  flown  before,  there- 
by proving  his  good  health  under  captivity. 


T43 


SANDPIPERS,    QUAIL,    AND 
KILDEER 

Tripping  light  as  a  sandpiper  over  the  beach, 
Swerving  this  way  and  that,  as  the  wave  of  the  moment 
Washes  out  its  slight  trace  with  a  dash  of  the  foam  on  't. 

LOWELL. 

ON  the  beach  near  our  camp  was  the 
nest  of  a  spotted  sandpiper,  or 
"  teeter,"  a  fascinating  little  bird  familiar  to 
all  dwellers  by  inland  lakes.  He  had  chosen 
a  beautiful  spot  for  his  home  at  the  foot  of 
a  clump  of  pink  clover,  where  the  ground 
sloped  gently  to  the  water's  edge.  The 
nest  was  of  dry  grass  moulded  to  roundness, 
and  partly  covered  by  the  overhanging 
clover  blossoms.  But  for  flushing  the 
mother,  we  might  not  have  discovered  it. 
In  it  were  four  dull  buff  eggs,  thickly 
blotched  with  purplish  brown.  The  little 
mother  sat  very  close,  and  we  never  once 
went  to  the  nest  without  finding  her  there. 
144 


*    -^ 

[y^^^%^ 
^asft®* ,   •*«-•»* 

^•?ss^v  r     .iV,.^ 


SANDPIPERS,   QUAIL,  AND    KILDEER 

Only  a  few  feet  of  beach  lay  between  her 
and  her  daily  supply  of  food,  and  that  was 
perhaps  the  reason  why  the  father  bird  was 
not  present  during  incubation.  As  soon, 
however,  as  the  little  ones  were  hatched,  he 
assumed-  his  share  of  parental  duties  and 
stood  guard  about  ten  feet  away.  The  day 
they  left  the  shells  they  stayed  in  the  nest, 
or  at  least  near  it,  and  that  night  we  found 
them  cuddled  with  their  mother  in  a  hollow 
a  foot  away.  Only  three  of  the  eggs 
hatched,  and  I  fancy  some  enemy  was  close 
at  hand,  for  I  never  saw  more  than  two  of 
the  bantlings.  The  next  morning  they  had 
gone  over  to  the  meadow,  and  only  by  long 
search  were  we  able  to  catch  them  for  their 
pictures.  As  luck  would  have  it,  the  sun 
hid  behind  dull  gray  clouds  all  day,  and  we 
were  finally  obliged  to  content  ourselves 
with  very  unsatisfactory  results. 

It  was  amusing  to  watch  the  small  sand- 
pipers as  they  teetered  down  to  the  edge  of 
the  water  with  a  funny  little  bobbing  motion, 

in  exact  imitation  of  their  elders,  their  long 
10  145 


NESTLINGS    OF    FOREST  AND    MARSH 

slender  legs  seeming  scarcely  strong  enough 
to  carry  them.  They  were  covered  with 
soft  down  of  beautiful  color  and  markings, 
the  under  parts  being  pure  white,  the  upper 
soft  brown  with  a  black 
stripe  through  the  cen- 
tre of  the  crown  and 
along  the  back  to  the 


Sandpiper's  nest,  skilfully  concealed 

tail.  This  was  crossed  at  right  angles  and 
also  obliquely  by  bars  of  black  that  centred 
on  the  nape,  as  if  Greek  and  Roman  crosses 
were  laid  one  over  the  other  with  the  middle 
cross-piece  at  the  back  of  the  neck. 

As  spry  as  little  chickens,  they  ran  about 

picking    up    their    food    and    needing    little 
146 


SANDPIPERS,   QUAIL,  AND    KILDEER 

attention  from  their  parents.  They  seemed 
to  know  instinctively  in  which  direction  the 
water  lay,  for  they  made  straight  for  it, 
sometimes  walking  out  on  the  lily-pads. 
The  water  does  not  seem  to  wet  through 
the  thick  down  that  covers  them,  and  they 
had  no  fear  of  it.  I  never  have  seen  the 
parents  swim,  and  fancy  they  seldom  wade, 
preferring  to  pick  up  the  little  bugs  from 
the  moist  sand.  They  were  quite  timid  and 
kept  at  a  long  distance  from  us,  so  that  it 
was  impossible  to  photograph  the  mother 
at  the  nest  or  afterwards  with  her  young.  In 
a  day  or  so  they  learned  to  hide  in  the  deep 
holes  made  by  the  feet  of  cattle,  and  although 
we  were  assured  of  their  proximity  by  the 
distress  of  the  parent  birds,  a  long  search 
failed  to  discover  them.  However,  one 
evening,  strolling  over  their  favorite  feeding- 
ground  by  moonlight,  when  all  well-behaved 
babies  are  abed,  I  was  startled  by  the  flight  of 
two  "  teeters  "  at  my  feet,  and  feeling  softly 
all  around,  I  at  last  found  the  ten-day-old 
sandpipers  snuggled  down  close  together  in  a 
147 


NESTLINGS    OF   FOREST   AND    MARSH 

hole  six  inches  deep,  apparently  too  dazed 
by  sleep  to  run  away.  A  tenderness  of  heart 
that  I  have  since  regretted  compelled  me  to 


Sandpiper's  babies  hiding  on  the  sand 

leave  them  where  they  were  and  remove  my 
intruding  self. 

Almost  as  shy  was  an  upland  plover 
whom  we  found  with  her  young  on  the 
roadside.  We  captured  two  of  the  babies, 
and  with  much  difficulty  induced  them  to 
sit  for  their  portraits,  although  the  day  was 
too  cloudy  for  a  successful  exposure.  The 
mother  was  much  excited  over  this  proceed- 
148 


SANDPIPERS,  QUAIL,  AND    KILDEER 

ing,  and  flying  from  fence-post  to  fence-post 
and  down  to  the  tall  grass,  gave  utterance 
continually  to  piteous  cries  of  distress,  more 
like  a  whistle  or  "cherr"  than  a  bird  note. 
It  was  a  weird  ventriloquistic  sound  impos- 
sible to  describe,  — 

./••' 

"  The  fresh,  free  cry  of  a  prairie  rover, 
The  uncaged  call  of  an  upland  plover." 

They  were  evidently  only  a  day  old,  and 
the  empty  nest  with  broken  shells  was  hidden 
on  the  level  ground  just  inside  the  edge  of  a 
clover-field.  It  was  even  a  less  pretentious 
nest  than  the  sandpipers',  being  only  a  slight 
depression  in  the  earth  with  small  attempt 
at  lining  or  concealment.  The  five  egg- 
shells were  bufFy  white,  spotted  with  choco- 
late and  quite  pointed.  The  nest  was  still 
warm,  as  if  they  had  not  been  long  away, 
and  I  wondered  whether  they  would  go 
back  to  sleep  that  night  in  the  old  nur- 
sery. However,  this  was  some  twelve  miles 
from  our  camping-place,  so  we  were  not  able 
to  see. 

149 


NESTLINGS    OF   FOREST   AND    MARSH 


A  spry  little  "  teeter" 


It  is  strange  how  early  ground-birds  leave 
the  nest.  I  doubt  if  plover,  quail,  partridge, 
snipe,  or  any  of  their  kin  remain  in  the  nur- 
sery more  than  two  or  three  hours,  or  longer 

than  just  enough 
for  the  down  to 
dry  out  well.  A 
nest  of  ruffled 
grouse  that  con- 
tained nine  eggs 
at  eight  A.  M. 
was  empty  with 
broken  shells  scattered  about  at  noon, 
and  one  little  fellow  was  caught  running 
off  with  the  egg-shell  still  on  his  back. 
This  is  young  America  indeed,  and  such 
enterprise  deserves  more  than  a  passing 
notice. 

There  were  said  to  be  no  quail  in  the 
neighborhood,  but  we  were  fortunate  enough 
to  run  across  a  family  of  them  in  a  fence 
corner  on  the  hillside.  On  one  side  was  a 
field  of  lush  red  clover,  its  full  pink  blos- 
soms reflecting  the  glory  of  the  sunset  sky ; 
'5° 


SANDPIPERS,  QUAIL,  AND    KILDEER 

for,  alas  !  this  also  was  late  in  the  afternoon, 
too  late  for  good  work  with  the  camera. 
The  mother  quail  disappeared  instantly  in 
the  underbrush,  giving  a  peculiar  call, 
and  all  the  brood  vanished  into  the  earth 
somewhere.  At  least  so  protective  is  their 
coloring,  and  so  perfectly  were  these  day- 
old  babies  trained  to  obey,  that  hunt  as  we 
would  we  were  able  to  find  but  one  of  the 
many.  This  one  flattened  himself  on  a 
bare  spot  of  earth,  shut  his  eyes,  and  re- 
mained motionless.  When  picked  up,  he 
cuddled  down  contentedly  in  my  little 
daughter's  hand,  and  tried  to  "  look  pleas- 
ant" for  his  picture. 

It  is  often  most  difficult  to  pose  these 
lively  bird  babies ;  some  —  notably  the 
woodpeckers  —  cannot  even  squat  on  a  flat 
surface  ;  some  cannot  be  taught  to  perch  at 
all ;  and  some,  like  young  bluebirds,  persist 
in  diving  head  foremost  off  any  perch,  thus 
compelling  the  would-be-photographer  to 
hold  a  shield  under  them  and  break  their 
fall.  A  young  coot  we  caught  utterly  re- 


NESTLINGS    OF    FOREST  AND    MARSH 


fused  to  pose  in  any  position  whatever,  and 
his  movements  were  so  swift  even  "  instan- 
taneous "  failed  to  get  him  as  he  left  the 
field  of  vision.  We  kept  him  prisoner  for 


Baby  quail  in  the  hand 

two  days,  hoping  to  study  him  ;  and  a  tamer, 
prettier  baby  could  nowhere  be  found.  He 
knew  how  to  feed  himself  perfectly,  and 
although  so  tiny  was  as  independent  as  pos- 
sible. About  half  the  size  of  a  little  chicken, 
he  was  covered  with  thick  black  down  over 
his  body  and  funny  little  wings.  His  long 
blackish-green  legs  and  scalloped  toes  pro- 
claimed him  a  wader ;  and  his  pointed  beak, 


SANDPIPERS,  QUAIL,   AND    KILDEER 

tipped  with  white  and  mottled  at  the  upper 
end  with  dark  brown,  was  curiously  like  his 
mamma's.  In  running  he  spread  his  little 
wings  like  an  ostrich,  and  hid  in  the  grass 
with  astonishing  rapidity.  Poor  baby ! 
His  was  a  sad  fate,  for  he  ate  the  poisoned 
dye  of  some  fur  thrown  over  him  as  a 
"  brooder/'  We  found  him  dead  from  the 
effects. 

One  bright  day  in  June  we  came  upon 
a  family  of  kildeer  consisting  of  a  mother 
and  five  little  ones.  Resolving  to  try  for 
their  photos,  the  Man  with  the  Camera  con- 
cealed it  in  a  bush  and,  retiring  thirty  feet, 
lay  down  behind  a  stone-pile.  The  old  bird 
had  become  much  alarmed  upon  the  first 
suspicion  of  danger,  and  flew  overhead  utter- 
ing her  plaintive  "  kildee,  kildee."  The 
young  could  not  fly,  and  were  only  just  out 
of  the  shell ;  so  after  some  lively  chasing  I 
captured  four  of  them,  one  by  one.  Placing 
them  in  approximate  range  of  the  camera,  I 
went  to  a  distant  part  of  the  field,  hoping  the 
mother  would  go  to  them.  This  she  did 
'53 


NESTLINGS    OF   FOREST  AND    MARSH 

almost  immediately,  and  led  or  drove  them 
toward  the  bushes,  believing  herself  safe,  yet 


still  suspicious  and  wary. 
The  father  was  off  in  the 
distance  trying  to  keep  my 
attention  fixed  upon  him 
where  I  was,  three  hundred  feet  away.  The 
young  were  beautiful  creatures,  marked  with 
dark  rings  around  their  necks  like  the  parents, 
and  ran  like  little  chickens,  peeping  in  the 
same  high  key  but  with  an  upward  inflec- 
tion, making  two  distinct  syllables  of  the 
note,  "  pee-ep." 

The  mother  was  so  timid  it  was  difficult 


SANDPIPERS,  QUAIL,   AND    KILDEER 

to  get  near  her.  Much  more  shy  than  the 
plover,  she  took  to  flight  while  the  latter 
sat  on  a  fence-post  and  called  "  churr." 
This  little  family  stayed  in  the  neighbor- 
hood several  weeks,  and  were  to  be  seen 
nearly  every  day.  The  efforts  of  the  little 
ones  to  learn  to  fly  were  comical.  At  first 
the  wings  were  lifted  in  running,  and  when 
they  were  two  weeks  old  they  could  not 
rise  from  the  ground  more  than  half  an 
inch,  but  scudded  along  as  do  little  ostriches. 
They  seemed  to  pick  up  their  own  food 
from  the  very  first,  and  I  never  saw  the 
mother  feed  them.  Long  before  the  sun 
had  dried  the  dew,  they  scurried  over  the 
wet  stubble,  and  later,  when  other  bird 
babies  were  abed,  they  were  still  running 
about. 

When  they  were  three  weeks  old,  I  again 
caught  one  to  photograph,  having  made 
several  failures  in  the  mean  time.  This 
chase  was  even  more  lively  than  the  first 
had  been,  and  the  mother  showed  greater 
distress,  lying  on  the  ground  thirty  feet 


NESTLINGS    OF    FOREST   AND  MARSH 


in  front  of  me,  fluttering  with  apparently 
broken  wings,  and  almost  rolling  over  and 
over  to  attract  my  attention,  while  the 

father  hovered 
over  her  also. 
This  time, 
while  I  caught 


one,     the     rest 


rushed  to  cover, 
and  all  efforts 
to  capture  them 
failed.  After 
much  tribula- 
tion we  at  last 
induced  the  cap- 
tive to  remain  within  focus  long  enough  for 


Kildeer  startled  and  about  to  run 


an  "  instantaneous." 


Their  story,  like  so  many  others  concern- 
ing young  birds,  ends  in  a  tragedy.  One 
by  one  they  were  "  missing. "  Was  a  fer- 
ret or  a  marsh-rat  or  a  hungry  owl  the  mur- 
derer? Only  an  Ernest  Seton-Thompson 
can  tell.  Were  the  little  ones  stolen  from 
under  their  mother  at  night,  or  lost  in  the 
156 


SANDPIPERS,   QUAIL,   AND    KILDEER 

tall  grass  during  the  day  ?  Opinion  was 
divided  on  this  point,  and  no  proof  was 
ever  obtained  as  to  the  cause  of  their  dis- 
appearance. They  were  only  one  of  the 
many  bird  families  decimated  by  cruel 
prowlers.  Often  and  often  I  have  wondered 
that  ever  any  nestling  came  to  maturity.  It 
is  the  smaller  song-birds  that  are  most  often 
the  victims,  and  pessimism  insists  that  the 
day  will  come  when  no  more  bird-songs 
will  be  heard  in  our  woods,  only  the  shrill 
screams  of  the  birds  of  prey,  the  caw  of  the 
crow,  the  shriek  of  the  bluejay,  and  the 
melancholy  hooting  of  the  owl. 


'57 


THE    BIRD    OF    MANY    NAMES 

Piercing  out  as  trumpet  shrill 

The  flicker's  challenge  breaks 

From  out  the  oaks  which  crown  a  hill 

That  overlooks  the  lakes  ; 

A  long-drawn  chattering  cry  elate, 

And  then  from  his  expectant  mate 

A  faint-heard  answering  cry  replies 

From  some  far  wooded  rise. 

McGAFFEY. 

ROWING  along  the  shore  very  early 
one  morning,  we  passed  a  meadow 
fringed  with  heavy  timber.  The  broken 
trunk  of  a  solitary  giant  sycamore  stood 
near  the  water's  edge,  leafless,  almost  branch- 
less, its  size  alone  telling  its  age  and  former 
glory.  As  we  came  in  sight  of  it,  a  meadow 
lark  sat  on  top  piping  merrily,  and  not  two 
feet  below  him,  on  the  side  next  the  lake,  a 
flicker  busily  excavated  his  dwelling.  He 
had  dug  out  about  ten  inches,  and  only  his 
tail  could  be  seen  in  the  hole,  bobbing  vigor- 
ously as  the  chips  flew.  Through  the  field- 
158 


THE    BIRD   OF    MANY    NAMES 

glasses  these  could  be  seen  falling  in  showers. 
He  was  making  rapid  progress.  The  meadow 
lark  finished  his  song  and  left.  When  the 
silence  attracted  the  attention  of  the  busy 
miner,  he  ceased  digging  and  appeared 
outside.  As  he  caught  sight  of  us,  his 
attempts  at  concealment  were  ludicrous. 
With  apparent  nonchalance  he  pecked  dain- 
tily first  on  one  side  of  the  tree,  then  the 
other,  a  few  inches  away  from  the  original 
excavation.  It  was  as  if  he  said,  "  You  see 
I  am  really  not  here  on  any  especial  business, 
simply  hunting  for  my  breakfast."  He 
even  sauntered  leisurely  to  the  top,  and 
looked  about  indifferently,  as  if  nothing  in 
the  world  could  interest  him.  And  yet 
only  two  minutes  before  he  had  been  work- 
ing for  dear  life  at  a  home  in  that  very  tree. 
I  laughed  aloud  over  his  airs.  He  looked 
at  me  solemnly,  as  if  amazed  at  such  levity, 
and  I  assure  you  no  owl  can  be  more  solemn 
and  no  catbird  more  crafty  than  a  flicker. 
Several  days  before  this  I  had  watched  him 
bowing  and  gesturing  before  the  lady  of  his 


NESTLINGS    OF    FOREST   AND  MARSH 

choice,  and  was  most  heartily  amused  over 
his  awkward  but  ardent  wooing.  He  had 
chosen  a  dying  oak-tree  on  the  edge  of  this 
very  wood  for  the  trysting-place,  and  there 
he  drummed  a  roundelay  each  morning  and 
evening.  Madam  was  coy  and  listened  from 
a  distance.  Then  he  tried  to  coax  her  to 
him  by  calling,  "  Flicker,  flicker,  flicker," 
and  "  Quick,  quick,  quick,"  over  and  over 
again.  Finally,  when  she  came  lazily,  as  if 
simply  to  be  amused,  he  bowed,  scraped,  and 
swaggered,  spread  his  tail,  fluttered  his 
golden-lined  wings,  and  wooed  her  in  soft 
undertones.  Never  had  I  supposed  a  flick- 
er's voice  could  be  so  sweet.  The  same 
mellow  tones  were  afterwards  heard  when 
this  flicker  came  to  feed  his  young.  It  is 
wonderful  how  the  shrillest  bird  voices  are 
modulated  for  baby  ears.  As  he  looked  at 
me  now,  I  seemed  to  see  recognition  and 
reproach  in  his  stern  unwinking  gaze,  as  if 
he  said,  "Why  do  you  trouble  me?  Are 
my  affairs  such  a  great  joke  ?  " 

At   length,    disgusted    at   my    persistent 
1 60 


THE    BIRD    OF    MANY   NAMES 

intrusion,  Monsieur  decided  to  abandon 
stratagem,  and  came  down  into  the  half- 
finished  hole  once  more.  Again  the  chips 
flew  swiftly,  interrupted  only  by  pauses  to 
look  out  at  us. 

Suddenly  a  flicker  flew  across  the  meadow, 
alighting  on  a  tree  a  hundred  and  fifty  feet 
away,  and  called.  Instantly  the  worker 
stopped  and  listened ;  a  second  call,  and 
without  a  moment's  hesitation  he  flew  to 
the  side  of  the  new-comer,  and  from  there 
away  for  his  breakfast.  I  waited  to  see 
Madam  take  his  place  at  the  work,  and  in 
about  ten  minutes  she  was  there,  coming  so 
silently  and  secretly  I  could  not  tell  how  or 
from  where.  By  the  absence  of  the  black 
cheek  patches,  I  knew  her  to  be  the  female. 
After  she  had  worked  half  an  hour  a  similar 
call  was  heard  from  the  same  tree  across  the 
meadow,  and  in  response  to  it  she  flew  away, 
though  not  to  that  part  of  the  woods.  With 
little  delay  and  no  stratagem  this  time,  the 
male  came  back  to  resume  his  labor,  evi- 
dently believing  he  was  beyond  our  reach, 
n  161 


NESTLINGS    OF    FOREST   AND  MARSH 

A  week  later  there  were  four  eggs  in  the 
rude  nest,  so  polished  and  transparent  that 
they  looked  like  pearls.  We  did  not  inves- 
tigate again  until  two  weeks  later,  when  we 


Squirming  flicker  babies,  two  days  old 

found  six  young  flickers,  featherless  and 
squirming.  The  heat  in  the  flicker's  home 
was  so  much  greater  than  that  outside  that 
curiosity  prompted  the  insertion  of  a  ther- 
mometer. It  immediately  rose  to  104°, 
the  outside  temperature  being  96°.  The 
Man  with  the  Camera  resolved  to  render  at 
least  two  of  those  newly-hatched  flickers 
immortal  as  being  the  homeliest  of  all  babies. 
Their  bodies  were  as  round  and  of  the  same 
162 


THE    BIRD    OF    MANY   NAMES 

size  and  color  as  the  pink  rubber  balls  the 
children  use  in  playing  jackstones.  From 
the  top  of  the  body  sprang  two  long  legs,  two 
appendages  that  might  some  day  be  called 
wings,  but  now  looked  more  like  earth- 
worms, and  a  neck  two  inches  long.  Un- 
fortunately they  are  foreshortened  in  the 
photograph,  as  is  also  the  protruding  lower 
mandible  of  the  beak,  so  much  of  the  ludi- 
crous proportions  are  lost.  Although  they 
were  so  lively  and  squirming,  they  persisted 
in  looking  very  dead  in  the  picture.  The 
one  with  his  head  tucked  under  was  trying 
to  brace  himself  by  his  long  neck.  Only 
politeness  restrained  the  small  boy  spectator 
from  shouting  "  Rubber,  rubber,"  and  in 
my  heart  I  echoed  the  thought.  As  soon 
as  possible*  we  returned  them  to  the  nest. 
A  week  later  we  visited  them  again,  and 
this  time  were  greeted  by  a  storm  of 
hisses  that  sounded  like  a  swarm  of  bees. 
It  could  be  heard  twenty  feet  away  on  the 
ground.  One  by  one  six  half-fledged 
flickers  were  lifted  out  and  lowered  in  a 
163 


NESTLINGS    OF    FOREST   AND  MARSH 

sunbonnetto  my  hands.  The  necks  had  not 
shortened  perceptibly,  but  the  wings  now 
had  joints  and  the  legs  were  more  shapely. 
Also  the  very  round  bodies  had  lengthened 
and  flattened  so  that  they  did  not  roll  about  so 
alarmingly.  In  spite  of  our  soothing  they 
kept  their  mouths  open  and  hissed  at  inter- 
vals. The  lower  mandible  was  still  longer 
than  the  upper,  and  the  white  tip  was  only 
slightly  less  conspicuous.  The  tongues 
were  very  long,  very  slender,  whitish  in 
color,  and  detached  for  a  long  distance  back 
in  the  mouth  and  rather  stiff. 

After  keeping  them  out  long  enough  to 
examine  carefully  and  photograph,  we  placed 
them  in  the  sunbonnet  once  more  and  re- 
turned to  the  nest.  Not  once  had  the 
father  and  mother  uttered  a  note  of  protest, 
or  shown  themselves  in  that  vicinity,  so  I 
went  back  an  hour  later  to  see  whether  they 
had  deserted.  A  smart  rap  brought  Madam 
to  the  doorway,  and  like  a  flash  she  was  gone 
from  sight.  All  waiting  for  her  to  return 
was  in  vain. 

164 


THE    BIRD    OF    MANY    NAMES 

Two  days  Jater,  in  passing  the  flicker  tree, 
I  saw  a  little  head  hanging  out  of  the  door- 
way in  a  perfectly  lifeless  way,  and  concluded 
some  accident  had  befallen  the  nestlings. 
But  even  as  I  looked,  a  second  head  ap- 
peared beside  the  first,  and  the  latter  at  once 
raised  itself,  and  joined,  open-mouthed,  in  a 
clamor  for  food.  Concealed  behind  some 
bushes,  I  waited  to  see  the  feeding  ;  and  after 
a  short  time  the  father  alighted  a  few  inches 
below,  and  at  one  side  of  the  nest-hole. 
Although  they  could  not  see  him,  they  heard 
his  arrival,  for  three  little  heads  were  stretched 
out,  filling  the  doorway.  He  looked  at 
them  a  moment,  as  if  deciding  which  one 
was  the  hungriest  or  most  deserving,  and 
placed  his  beak  in  the  open  mouth  of  the 
nearest.  The  little  fellow  hung  on  bravely 
while  the  old  bird  shook  him  up  and  down, 
much  as  you  have  seen  women  shake  pillows 
into  cases.  This  finished,  after  a  moment's 
pause  to  catch  his  breath,  the  father  repeated 
the  pumping  and  shaking  with  the  two 
others.  Then,  in  spite  of  continued  hungry 
165 


NESTLINGS    OF   FOREST   AND  MARSH 

cries,  he  retired  out  of  sight  behind  the  nest 
to  watch  and  listen,  only  his  head  showing, 
in  attitude  of  attention.  He  remained  there, 
motionless,  as  long  as  the  nestlings  cried, 
and  when  all  was  quiet  in  the  nest  he  slipped 
away.  I  was  strongly  reminded  of  certain 
nursery  scenes  I  had  witnessed,  where  a  pa- 
tient mother  waited  out  of  sight  for  a  refrac- 
tory baby  to  go  to  sleep,  not  daring  to  leave 
it  crying,  and  yet  not  wishing  to  humor  it. 
The  food  brought  had  of  course  been  given 
by  regurgitation  ;  but  I  am  positive  it  had 
not  been  completely  digested,  for  I  distinctly 
saw  the  end  of  the  body  of  a  moth  or  grub 
sticking  out  sidewise  from  the  bill  of  one  of 
the  babies  after  the  father  had  finished  feed- 
ing him. 

As  we  watched  this  brood  develop  day 
after  day>  the  equalization  of  labor  between 
father  and  mother  impressed  me  greatly.  •  If 
either  could  be  said  to  be  the  more  tireless 
in  caring  for  the  young,  it  was  the  father. 
He  slept  on  a  crotch  a  foot  away  from  the 
hole,  and  the  mother,  after  the  first  week, 
1 66 


THE    BIRD    OF    MANY   NAMES 

spent  the  night  on  top  of  the  trunk.  Those 
babies  were  fed  each  hour,  with  clocklike 
regularity,  according  to  the  latest  ideas  as  to 
bringing  up  a  family. 

Whether  there  were  more  than  three  in 
the  nest  at  that  time  or  not,  only  three  heads 
were  visible  at  each  feeding,  and  when,  a 
week  later,  I  watched  them  fly,  there  were 
but  three.  There  had  been  six  up  to  the 
time  they  were  a  week  old,  but  the  others 
may  have  made  their  debut  unknown  to  me. 
These  three  we  persuaded  to  come  out  a 
little  earlier  than  they  had  planned,  and  pose 
for  us  on  the  trunk  of  the  tree.  It  was  their 
first  view  of  life,  and  they  were  somewhat 
amazed.  This  time  the  parents  remained 
near,  and  called  with  their  peculiar  shrill  cry 
of  anger.  As  soon  as  we  left  they  were  be- 
side the  little  ones,  feeding  them  as  before. 

A  young  flicker's  first  flight  is  particularly 
strong,  and  one  of  these  covered  a  distance 
of  one  hundred  feet  before  alighting.  They 
followed  the  parents  closely  for  at  least  two 
weeks,  and,  so  far  as  I  could  discover,  were 
167 


NESTLINGS    OF   FOREST   AND  MARSH 

fed  by  them  entirely.  Until  they  were  ten 
days  out  of  the  nest,  the  feeding  seemed 
to  be  partly  by  regurgitation,  and  partly 
direct,  as  other  young  birds  are  fed.  Later 
I  saw  them  on  the  naked  ant-hills  that  are 
so  distinctly  a  flicker's  feeding-ground,  and 
they  were  apparently  helping  themselves ; 
but  the  same  day  the  '  parents  again  fed 
them. 

The  method  of  teaching  them  to  forage 
for  themselves  was  most  interesting.  Fat 
grubs  were  brought  and  shown  to  a  hungry 
youngster,  but  instead  of  being  given  to  him 
direct,  were  partly  tucked  under  a  strip  of 
bark,  where  he  could  see  them  and  help  him- 
self. In  the  same  way  ant-hills  were  opened 
for  him,  and  the  white  ant-eggs  exposed,  but 
not  fed  to  him.  Finding  that  all  entreaties 
were  in  vain,  he  soon  learned  that  he  must 
work  if  he  would  eat. 

For   several    days,  just    at    evening    the 

weather  became  quite  stormy,  and  I   fancy 

the  young  flickers  slept  in  the  old  nest  every 

night,  as  well  as  sought  it  for  shelter  from 

1 68 


THE    BLRD    OF    MANY   NAMES 

the  rain,  for  they  were  there  at  sunrise  each 
morning. 

After  they  had  finally  deserted  it,  exami- 
nation showed  it  to  be  seventeen  and  a  half 
inches  deep,  and  the  original  doorway  about 
three  inches  in  diameter.  As  to  the  thirty- 
six  common  names  with  which  some  books 
credit  this  inoffensive  bird,  I  have  wondered 
what  he  has  done  to  deserve  them  all. 
Surely  the  half-dozen  most  commonly  used 
are  sufficient. 


169 


THE    HOUSE   THAT   FELL 

How  does  he  know  where  to  dig  his  hole, 
The  woodpecker  there,  on  the  elm-tree  pole  ? 
How  does  he  know  what  kind  of  a  limb 
To  use  for  a  drum  or  to  burrow  in  ? 

LONG. 

THE  red-headed  woodpecker  is  one  of 
those  birds  who  prefer  old  home- 
steads year  after  year,  and  the  bird  whose 
history  I  am  going  to  tell  nested  for  five 
seasons  in  the  same  dead  tree  just  south 
of  my  nursery  window.  During  that  time 
he  excavated  two  dwellings  in  it,  and  the 
discarded  one  he  used  as  a  shelter  for  him- 
self on  cold  rainy  days  when  Madam  was 
on  the  nest.  A  light  summer  shower,  how- 
ever, was  his  delight,  and  the  only  bath  I 
ever  saw  him  take.  Although  robins  and 
wood-thrushes  daily  bathed  in  a  basin  set 
out  for  them,  Red-head  never  would  go 
to  the  ground  for  it. 
170 


THE   HOUSE   THAT   FELL 

He  at  first  came  to  the  tree  alone,  looked 
it  over  and  tapped  it  vigorously,  then  flew 
away.  In  an  hour  he  was  there  again,  this 
time  with  his 
mate.  She  evi- 
dently approved 
his  choice  of 
location,  for  she 
sat  contentedly 
above  him  while 
he  struck  out 
the  circle  for  the 
doorway.  After 
that  both  worked 
at  the  excava- 
tions alternately 

c  •  tr        Young  red-headed  woodpecker  leaving  nest 

for    intervals    of 

about  twenty  minutes  each.  Most  of  this 
was  done  early  in  the  morning  before  the 
folks  in  the  house  were  supposed  to  be 
astir ;  for  although  neither  a  shy  nor  timid 
bird,  the  red-head  resents  any  notice  of 
his  domestic  affairs.  Whenever  any  one 
appeared  on  the  veranda  he  would  stop 
171 


NESTLINGS    OF   FOREST   AND  MARSH 

work,  mount  the  top  of  the  stump,  and 
scold,  emphasizing  every  squawk  with  a 
comical  jerk  of  his  entire  body.  It  was 
as  though  he  pumped  out  the  tone.  We 
always  knew  when  puss  was  abroad  on  the 
lawn  by  the  continuous  succession  of  harsh 
squawks  that  came  from  the  woodpecker's 
tree  or  a  roof  near  by.  The  old  trunk  was 
barkless  and  smooth,  with  only  a  forked 
branch  at  the  top  some  twenty  feet  from 
the  ground,  so  I  am  sure  he  had  no  reason 
to  fear  that  any  wicked  feline  could  reach 
that  precious  nest.  In  this  home-guarding 
he  was  invariably  assisted  by  an  officious 
English  sparrow,  who  perched  on  one  fork 
of  the  branch  and  scolded  his  loudest  with 
important  little  tail-waggings.  When  there 
were  pretty  white  eggs  in  the  nest  and 
Madam  was  away  for  food,  the  sparrow 
was  always  to  be  seen  at  his  post,  and 
often  seemed  to  call  her  back  impatiently 
if  she  lingered.  His  own  babies,  hatched 
under  the  eaves  of  my  nursery,  were  of 
minor  importance.  They  were  even  allowed 
172 


THE    HOUSE    THAT    FELL 

to  sit  side  by  side  on  a  clothes-post  in  the 
yard,  with  little  mouths  open  and  wings 
quivering  for  food,  while  he  took  care  of 
his  neighbor's  children. 

The  red-heads  never  seemed  to  resent  this 
but  once.  Then  there  were  young  in  the 
nest,  and  both  parents  had  gone  for  food. 
During  their  absence  I  saw  Monsieur  Med- 
dlesome go  to  the  nest-hole  several  times 
and  look  in.  Each  time  a  little  wood- 
pecker head  had  been  sticking  out,  and  was 
hastily  withdrawn  at  his  approach.  Whether 
he  objected  to  their  looking  out  or  whether 
he  was  simply  curious,  I  never  knew,  but  he 
finally  went  clear  inside  the  nest  and  stayed 
some  time.  I  thought  he  was  murdering 
the  infants,  but  just  as  the  mother  came  in 
sight  away  he  flew,  and  a  baby  head  peered 
out  to  watch  his  flight.  However  welcome 
the  foster  nurse  was  to  the  lonely  little 
woodpeckers,  the  parents  sorely  resented 
the  intrusion.  With  indescribable  fury  the 
mother  followed  him,  and  but  for  his  ability 
in  dodging  and  the  red-head's  awkwardness, 


NESTLINGS    OF    FOREST   AND  MARSH 

there  had  been  one  less  English  sparrow. 
But  he  gained  his  own  domicile  safely,  and 
there  the  red-head  drummed  and  screamed 
in  impotent  rage.  I  sup- 
posed she  was  driving  a 
hole  through  the  thin 
boards  into  his 
nest,  but  she  ap- 
parently con- 
tented herself 
with  frightening 
him  and  his  babies 
into  a  series  of 
spasms. 

Meanwhile  the 

father    returned 

on  the  lookout  and  fed  they  oung- 

sters,  retired  to  his  usual  seat  on  the  top, 
and  began  his  customary  squawking.  As 
soon  as  the  mother  saw  him,  she  left  the 
sparrow  and  took  her  place  near  him  for  an 
instant,  just  long  enough  to  tell  him,  of  the 
outrage,  then  went  into  her  own  nest.  But 
the  moment  that  sparrow  left  the  eaves  she 


THE    HOUSE   THAT   FELL 

was  on  the  alert,  leaning  far  out  the  door- 
way and  shaking  a  figurative  fist  at  him. 
The  next  day  he  fought  shy  of  the  tree, 
but  the  second  day  he  had  apparently  for- 
gotten his  fright,  or  else  he  alighted  there 
in  sheer  bravado.  Instantly  Madam  drove 
him  away ;  but  the  moment  her  back  was 
turned  he  was  there  again,  alighting  behind 
her.  This  was  kept  up  at  intervals  all  day. 
The  next  day  he  spent  on  a  maple  quite 
near,  watching  his  chance.  The  very  mo- 
ment both  red-heads  flew  away  he  was  on 
their  tree,  taking  full  charge  as  before,  and 
much  excited  over  the  proximity  of  the  cat. 
Finally,  after  spending  three-fourths  of  their 
time  in  driving  him  away,  the  sensible  wood- 
peckers decided  to  ignore  him,  and  he  was 
thereafter  on  guard  as  long  as  the  tree  re- 
mained standing. 

There  were  always  either  eggs  or  young 
in  the  red-head's  nest  from  May  15  to  July 
31  each  year.  Often  there  were  fresh-laid 
eggs,  newly  hatched  babies,  and  nestlings 
ready  to  fly,  in  the  nest  at  once.  This  kept 
T75 


NESTLINGS    OF   FOREST   AND  MARSH 

both  parents  busy,  and  yet  whenever  a  little 
one  tried  his  wings  the  father  was  there  to 
take  care  of  him. 

At  the  foot  of  the  tree  were  colonies  of 
black  beetles,  —  the  red-head's  larder,  as  it 
were,  —  and  from  it  he  carried  these  to  the 
young,  both  inside  and  out  of  the  nest,  on 
an  average  of  three  a  minute  at  six  o'clock 
in  the  evening.  I  do  not  know  whether 
he  fed  them  by  regurgitation  during  their 
earliest  babyhood  or  not,  but  it  was  never 
done  at  the  doorway,  as  is  the  case  with 
the  flickers.  Although  sparrows'  nests  were 
numerous  and  exposed,  I  am  positive  he 
never  robbed  .them.  In  a  hollow  part  of 
the  tree  after  it  fell  were  nut  shells,  dead 
beetles,  and  grasshoppers,  evidently  stored 
from  mere  love  of  hoarding. 

The  young  red-heads  seemed  to  be  on  the 
point  of  flying  for  a  week  or  so  before  they 
actually  left  the  nest,  and  during  all  that 
time  we  were  ever  on  the  qul  vive.  Each 
year  when  the  crisis  finally  came,  my  head 
was  sure  to  be  turned  in  the  opposite  direc- 
176 


THE    HOUSE    THAT    FELL 

tion,  although  for  an  hour  previously  I  had 
not  dared  look  away,  and  the  birdling  would 
be  out  like  a  flash  before  I  could  realize  it. 

Fortunately  a  brood  which  we  were  watch- 
ing in  an  old  tree  in  the  forest  were  less  shy. 
The  oldest  son  of  this  family  sat  in  the 
doorway  a  long  time  making  up  his  mind 
to  try  his  fortunes,  then  crawled  out  and 
sat  on  top  of  the  stump  in  which  his  home 
was  located.  The  absence  of  any  red  on 
his  gray  head  and  the  narrower  stripes  of 
black  and  white  on  his  back  made  him  look 
very  unlike  his  parents.  He  remained  on 
the  stump  all  day,  fed  as  usual  but  making 
no  effort  to  help  himself.  Afterwards  I  saw 
him  following  a  downy  woodpecker  about 
and  begging  with  cries  and  quivering  wings 
to  be  fed.  And  dainty  Madam  Downy 
fed  him  as  patiently  as  though  he  were  not 
twice  as  big  as  she. 

One  night,  when  the  little  family  in  my 
yard  were  about  ready  to  fly,  a  hard  wind 
and  rain  storm  wrecked  houses  and  tore 

down    trees.      Among    the    latter    was    the 
12  i77 


NESTLINGS    OF    FOREST   AND  MARSH 

home  of  our  red-heads.  We  watched  it 
sway,  and  realizing  how  the  beetles  had 
riddled  it  at  the  ground,  we  feared  the  worst. 
Both  birds  were  in  it,  and  as  their  doorways 
were  toward  the  west,  they  faced  the  full  fury 
of  the  storm.  At  last  a  harder  blast  caused 
it  to  rock  once  or  twice  and  then  fall.  As 
it  went  over,  out  flew  both  parents  and  one 
young  bird.  The  rain  came  in  torrents, 
and  whether  the  little  one  was  beaten  to 
earth  or  whirled  away  by  the  wind  and 
killed,  I  never  knew,  for  we  never  found 
him.  After  the  storm  was  over  and  the 
sun  came  out  for  a  farewell  look  at  the 
ruin  the  wind  had  wrought,  the  poor  wood- 
peckers came  back  likewise.  As  if  not 
realizing  what  had  happened,  they  circled 
over  and  around  the  spot  where  the  tree 
had  stood,  always  at  about  the  former  height 
of  their  nest.  It  was  as  if  they  still  expected 
to  find  it  there  and  could  not  understand 
the  mystery.  On  the  ground  in  the  broken 
trunk,  exposed  to  full  view,  lay  a  nestling 
fully  feathered,  one  just  hatched,  and  the 
178 


THE    HOUSE   THAT   FELL 

smashed  remains  of  several  eggs ;  but  not 
once  did  the  bewildered  parents  notice  them. 
Their  sole  idea  was  to  find  the  nest  where 
for  four  years  they  had  never  failed  of  find- 
ing it. 

Until  the  darkness  fell  they  hovered 
about  the  place  with  wild  cries  of  distress, 
and  the  next  morning  they  were  back  again. 
After  that  they  disappeared,  and  they  have 
never  visited  the  spot  since.  We  miss  them 
greatly,  and  we  miss  the  cheery  reveille  on 
our  tin  roof  that  used  to  waken  us  so  early 
in  the  morning,  telling  us  that  the  birds'  day 
had  begun.  The  little  sparrow  seemed  to 
miss  them  also,  for  he  sat  all  day  in  the 
maple  and  talked  about  the  tragedy.  And 
I  understood  his  feelings,  if  not  his  language. 


179 


DR.   JEKYLL 

The  noisy  jay, 
Jargoning  like  a  foreigner  at  his  food. 

LONGFELLOW. 

DID  he  who  wrote  "  line  feathers  do  not 
make  fine  birds,"  have  the  blue  jay 
in  mind,  I  wonder?  For  nowhere  does  a 
handsome  coat  cover  rougher  manners  or 
blacker  heart.  For  years  I  refused  to 
believe  him  a  cannibal,  even  against  trust- 
worthy testimony,  but  recently  I  have 
myself  witnessed  his  villany.  A  great  dis- 
turbance at  five  o'clock  in  the  morning  in  a 
tree  where  there  was  a  pewee's  nest,  brought 
me  to  the  window  just  in  time  to  see  a  blue 
jay  fly  away  with  a  nestling  in  his  bill,  pur- 
sued by  the  parent  pewees  and  several  vireos. 
The  next  morning  this  was  repeated,  and 
the  next,  until  there  were  no  more  little 
pewees  in  the  ravaged  domicile.  It  was 
heart-rending,  but  nothing  could  be  done, 
i  So 


DR.   JEKYLL 


On  another  occasion  my  attention  was 
attracted  to  three  jays  sneaking  about  a 
barn.  One  hopped  up  the  roof  on  one  side 
with  curious  awkwardness,  and  down  on  the 
other  to  the  eaves,  where  he  stood  peering 
over  and  underneath  with  diabolical  leer. 
Another  stood  on  a  bar  running  out  from 
the  barn,  also  looking  up,  but  with  one  eye 
on  me,  for  he  well  knew  his  acts  would  not 
bear  watching.  The  third  perched  on  top 
of  a  lean-to  which  ran  nearly  to  the  eaves, 
and  was  completely  absorbed  in  something 
underneath  also.  Suspecting  mischief,  I 
investigated.  Sure  enough,  there  were  fifty 
or  more  swallows'  nests,  some  with  eggs  and 
some  with  young,  glued  fast  to  the  side  of 
the  barn.  In  nearly  every  little  doorway  a 
head  was  looking  out  watching.  The  poor 
little  mothers  dared  not  leave  even  for  food, 
while  those  hungry  ogres  were  there  waiting 
to  seize  their  young. 

At  least  twenty  of  the  song-birds'  nests  I 
found  in  one  season  were  devastated  by  jays. 
As  a  rule  they  punctured  the  eggs  and 
181 


NESTLINGS    OF    FOREST   AND   MARSH 


sucked  the  contents,  leaving  the  empty 
shells  behind.  A  snake  or  a  crow  swallows 
the  eggs  or  carries  them  away  without  break- 
ing ;  a  red  squirrel  tears  the  nest  in  such  a 


Dr.  Jekyll 

way  there  is  no  mistaking  his  handiwork, 
and  a  jay  sucks  the  eggs  if  fresh  ;  otherwise 
he  too  carries  them  away  at  least  a  few  feet, 
breaks  them,  and  eats  the  embryo.  I  have 
even  thought  he  deliberately  waits  for  the 
egg  to  develop,  preferring  newly  hatched 
young  to  raw  albumen,  for  he  has  been 
seen  near  nests  day  after  day,  and  robbed 
182 


DR.   JEKYLL 


them  only  after  the  nestlings  had  broken  the 
shell. 

It  is  hard  to  write  such  things  of  a  bird 
who  was  once  a  prime  favorite  of  mine, 
but,  if  true,  they  must  be  told.  With  all 
his  faults,  I  love  him  still.  He  is  so  dash- 
ing, so  handsome,  and  so  intelligent.  When 
a  family  of  jays  was  rendered  homeless  by  a 
storm,  I  adopted  one  of  the  babies,  and  his 
funny  tricks  and  manners  were  a  source  of 
unending  amusement.  He  learned  to  mimic 
whistles,  calls,  water  pouring  from  a  carafe 
(his  cage  was  in  the  dining-room),  and 
essayed  the  song  of  a  pet  canary,  greatly  to 
the  latter's  disgust.  His  favorite  occupation 
was  hiding  everything  small  enough  to  be 
carried  in  his  bill.  If  objects  rolled  too  far 
out  of  reach,  a  torrent  of  blue-jay  profanity 
rushed  from  his  throat.  The  words  might 
be  unintelligible,  but  there  was  no  mistaking 
the  sentiment.  In  direct  contrast  to  this  he 
sometimes  sat  as  close  to  me  as  he  could  get 
and  whispered  in  a  confidential  undertone, 
musical  as  a  silver  bell.  It  was  the  same 
183 


NESTLINGS    OF   FOREST   AND   MARSH 

sweet,  low  coaxing  with  which  I  have  heard 
him  woo  his  mate  at  four  o'clock  in  the 
morning,  and  afterwards  soothe  his  beloved 

nestlings.  For 
a  blue  jay  can 
be  gentle,  and 
no  bird  of  my 
acquaintance  is 
such  a  devoted 
father.  Robins 
will  sometimes 
abandon  their 
young  if  the  lat- 
ter are  maimed,  and  I  have 
known  them  to  refuse  to  feed  a 
blind  nestling  after  he  had  left 
the  home  tree.  But  blue  jays  defend  and 
care  for  their  own  kind.  There  is  an  esprit  de 
corps  in  the  entire  family  which  leads  them  to 
stand  by  each  other,  —  a  jolly  good  fellow- 
ship, as  it  were.  Two  robins  may  quarrel, 
two  orioles  often  do,  but  blue  jays  never. 
If  a  young  jay  is  taken  from  one  nest  and 
placed  in  another,  he  receives  the  same  care 
184 


DR.    JEKYLL 


from  his  foster  parents  that  their  own  young 
do.  And  yet  these  same  foster  parents  will 
bring  the  nestlings  of  other  birds  to  him  for 
food. 

This  banding  together  of  the  jays  on  all 
occasions  against  a  common  foe  helps  to 
make  them  a  terror  to  all  woodland  dwellers. 
I  doubt  whether  even  a  hungry  hawk  would 
attempt  to  rob  them,  and  hence  the  jays 
increase  and  the  song  birds  decrease. 

Early  one  morning  I  witnessed  an  amusing 
demonstration  of  the  jay's  peculiar  devotion 
to  his  mate.  Part  of  the  lawn  had  been 
newly  raked  over  with  fresh  earth,  and  here 
the,  two  jays  came  for  their  breakfast,  as 
well  as  to  get  food  for  their  young.  Their 
nest  was  across  the  street  in  the  next  block, 
about  three  hundred  feet  away.  The  male 
was  either  less  hungry  or  more  fortunate  in 
hunting,  for  he  finished  some  minutes  before 
the  female.  Then,  having  gathered  four 
large  angle-worms  in  his  beak,  he  flew  to  a 
low  perch  to  wait  for  her.  Seeing  that  she 
did  not  hurry,  he  expostulated  gently  with 

•85 


NESTLINGS    OF   FOREST  AND    MARSH 


her,  even  flying  down  beside  her  and  remind- 
ing her  of  those  hungry  babies  at  home. 
Still  she  would  not  go.  Then  he  flew  to  a 
half-way  tree  and  waited  again,  calling  her 
softly.  Every  harsh  jay 
note  was  gone  from  his 
voice,  and  it  was  as  per- 
suasive as  that  of  a  dove. 
He  fidgeted  somewhat  over 
the  delay,  the  four  wriggling 
worms  seemed  hard  to  hold; 
but  he  would  not  leave  her 
nor  did  hescoldher.  Finally, 
her  own  appetite  appeased, 
she  gathered  a  breakfast  for 
the  nestlings  and  joined  him 
on  the  tree.  Then  he  flew 
to  the  next,  and  waited 
again  until  she  followed. 
The  next  flight  was  taken 
simultaneously  to  the  nest 
tree,  and  each  time  they 
came  together  to  the  lawn  for 
worms,  they  left  together. 
186 


One  of  the  jay's  victims  : 
nest  of  swamp  sparrow 


DR.    JEKYLL 


This  same  jay  had  carried  food  to  his 
mate  on  the  nest  every  half-hour  all  day 
long,  and  relieved  her  at  short  intervals. 
At  one  such  time  when  I  happened  to  see 
him,  he  straddled  the  eggs  as  if  afraid  to 
squat  upon  them,  although  realizing  that 
some  such  method  was  necessary  to  keep 
them  warm.  With  head  on  one  side  he 
looked  down  upon  them  in  masculine  pride 
and  awkwardness ;  then,  suddenly  catching 
sight  of  me,  his  whole  manner  changed. 
Instantly  he  was  off  the  nest  and  hopping 
about  with  an  elaborate  assumption  of  in- 
difference and  contempt.  Nothing  in  that 
nest  interested  him  !  It  was  probably  a  last 
year's  catbird  or  tumble-down  crow  nest ! 
There  was  n't  a  thing  in  it !  He  was  merely 
looking  to  see  whether  a  squirrel  had  left  a 
nut  there.  Finally,  as  if  to  convince  me,  he 
flew  away  from  the  tree  entirely. 

Notwithstanding  all  their  dash  and  bold- 
ness, the  blue  jays  do  not  defend  their  homes 
from  human  hands,  as  do  many  other  smaller 
birds,  seeming  to  prefer  stratagem.  A 
187 


NESTLINGS    OF    FOREST   AND    MARSH 


mother  jay  will  usually  leave  without  pro- 
test if  there  are  only  eggs  in  the  nest,  and  if 
there  are  young  she 
contents  herself  with 
squawking  in  close  imi- 
tation of  a  catbird's 
meouw." 

And  what 
homely  babies 
are  those  newly 
hatched  jays  ! 
Of  a  sickly 
greenish  color, 
their  skin 
I  seems  tough, 
like  leather.  It 
is  impossible  to 
describe  them 
in  sufficiently 
repellent  terms. 
They  look  as  if  they  had  been  dead  for  days 
and  were  mummified.  Have  the  parent  jays 
no  sense  of  beauty,  I  wonder,  that  they  regard 
these  ugly  nestlings  with  such  tender  pride  ? 
1 88 


Nests  devastated  by  jays.     Upper,  red-eyed  vireo. 
Lower,  indigo  bunting 


DR.    JEKYLL 


The  nest  is  coarser  than  that  of  a  catbird, 
and  with  small  pretence  at  lining,  yet  both 
male  and  female  work  assiduously  in  build- 
ing it.  Usually  it  is  well  concealed ;  often 
in  an  evergreen,  sometimes  in  fruit  trees, 
sometimes  in  tall  hazel-bushes  ;  but  I  have 
never  found  one  in  a  thorn-bush.  Since  the 
nest  often  resembles  that  of  the  thrasher 
and  catbird  in  material  used,  it  seems  a  little 
strange  that  their  favorite  nesting-places  are 
so  persistently  shunned.  Is  it  possible  the 
dashing  jay  feels  himself  so  able  to  defend 
that  he  scorns  such  artificial  protection  for 
his  home  ? 

As  soon  as  the  young  jays  are  large  enough 
to  leave  the  nest,  they  develop  all  the  pug- 
nacity and  fearlessness  of  their  father. 
When  scarcely  able  to  balance  on  their  un- 
certain little  legs,  they  will  meet  any  advance 
with  a  defiant  peck.  For  several  weeks 
they  keep  close  to  the  father  night  and  day, 
learning  all  his  sly  tricks  and  villanous 
ways.  I  have  seen  a  whole  family  waiting 
on  a  tree  for  the  tiny  owners  of  a  yellow 
189 


NESTLINGS    OF    FOREST  AND   MARSH 

warbler's  nest  to  leave  it  unguarded.  As  if 
they  knew  their  deeds  were  evil,  their  every 
look  and  act  told  of  knavery,  quite  different 
from  their  usual  gallant  bearing.  That  night 
I  came  upon  them  sleeping  in  a  bunch  in  the 
same  tree,  and  felt  certain  that  with  the 
morning  light  there  would  be  four  less  baby 
yellow-birds  in  the  world.  And  so  it  is, 
that  while  I  can  almost  hate  the  jays  for 
their  faults,  I  entirely  love  them  for  their 
beautiful  coloring  and  their  one  virtue  of 
family  love.  How  much  better  are  we  than 
they  ?  Or,  rather,  are  we  not  much  worse, 
since  we  kill  for  love  of  killing  ?  Too  often 
we  have  not  even  the  blue  jay's  one  virtue 
of  loyalty  to  our  own. 


190 


CARPENTERS,    MASONS,   AND 
MINERS 


A  bird's  nest.      Mark  it  well  within,  without. 
No  tool  had  he  that  wrought,  no  knife  to  cut, 
No  nail  to  fix,  no  bodkin  to  insert) 
No  glue  to  join  ;  his  little  beak  was  all. 
And  yet  how  neatly  finished  !      What  nice  hand 
With  every  implement  and  means  of  art, 
And  twenty  years'  apprenticeship,  to  boot, 
Could  make  me  such  another  ? 

HURDIS. 


chimney  swift  is  an  anomaly 
A  among  our  native  birds,  constructing 
a  nest  that  is  easily  first  in  point  of  beauty 
and  workmanship  ;  laying  eggs  so  perfect  in 
shape  and  translucent  in  texture  as  to  be 
startlingly  like  pearls,  it  hides  all  this  loveli- 
ness in  the  smutty  depths  of  an  old  chimney. 
By  what  utilitarian  principle  of  evolution 
have  the  habits  of  this  bat-like  bird  been  so 
modified  that  it  has  forsaken  the  sweet,  pure 
air  of  the  forest  for  a  sooty  home  in  the 
dwellings  of  man  ?  Is  it  for  protection  from 
the  ravages  of  squirrels  and  owls  ?  But 
191 


NESTLINGS   OF   FOREST   AND   MARSH 

every  thrifty  housewife  wages  war  upon  the 
swift,  and  I  have  known  squirrels  to  pen- 
etrate even  here.  Cool  evenings  in  June 
demand  fires,  and  a  fire  below  means  death 
to  the  helpless  .fledglings  in  the  nest  above. 
To  a  layman  it  would  seem  that  these  artifi- 
cial conditions  offer  greater  danger  than  any 
Torest  foes  could. 

I  believe  no  one  has  been  able  to  watch 
the  little  gray  builders  at  their  work  further 
than  to  see  them  carrying  twigs  of  all  shapes 
and  sizes  down  into  the  chimney,  but  exam- 
ination of  a  nest  reveals  the  fact  that  the 
lower  twigs  are  glued  firmly  in  place  with 
saliva  one  by  one,  and  the  others  laid  criss- 
cross upon  them  until  the  nest  is  shaped  up 
and  out  like  a  bracket.  It  is  a  wonderful 
structure.  Every  piece  seems  to  be  cut  at 
both  ends  to  fill  the  position  which  it  occu- 
pies, and  varnished  nicely  as  it  is  fastened 
into  place.  Just  enough  glue  to  make  it 
secure  is  used,  and  none  is  ever  spilled  on 
the  bricks.  And  so  firm  is  it  that  pieces  of 
brick  may  sometimes  be  broken  off  with  it. 
192 


CARPENTERS,    MASONS,    AND    MINERS 

Chemical  analysis  proves  that  this  glue  is 
only  the  saliva  of  the  bird,  not  being  ob- 
tained from  the  gum  of  any  tree,  and  natu- 
ralists aver  that  after  the  nest  is  completed 
these  saliva  glands  shrink  into  normal  size 
again.  It  is  the  more  remarkable  when  we 
remember  that  these  little  architects  do  not 
perch  on  trees  or  alight  on  the  ground,  and 
that  each  tiny  twig  must  be  broken  from  a 
tree  as  the  bird  passes  it  in  flight. 

In  this  exquisite  cradle,  with  no  lining  of 
any  sort,  five  small  white  eggs  are  laid. 
They  are  the  most  beautiful  of  all  the  eggs 
I  have  known.  All  this  loveliness,  which 
really  cannot  be  described  at  all,  is  hidden 
where  human  eyes  cannot  enjoy  it,  and 
"  Chimney  swift "  has  become  a  term  of 
dislike  and  contempt.  If  those  neat  house- 
keepers who  ruthlessly  order  these  dainty 
homes  to  be  torn  down  were  to  see  even  one 
of  them  I  am  sure  they  would  hesitate  before 
destroying.  The  majority  of  nests  are  so 
placed  against  the  south  side  of  the  chimney 
as  to  be  shielded  from  the  sun,  but  after  the 
13  193 


NESTLINGS    OF    FOREST  AND    MARSH 

young  are  hatched  the  mother  protects  them 
from  the  heat  of  noon  by  making  her  body 
a  shelter  over  them.  In  about  twelve  days 
the  pearly  shells  open,  and  birdlings  like 
little  hairless  mice  may  be  seen  lying  on  the 
hard  bed  of  varnished  twigs.  They  are  fed, 
I  believe,  by  regurgitation,  most  frequently 
during  early  morning  and  late  afternoon,  the 
insects  which  constitute  their  food  being 
caught  on  the  wing  and  carried  in  the  throat 
pouch.  I  have  not  seen  them  feed  their 
young  while  flying  in  mid-air,  but  some 
witnesses  aver  that  this  is  true. 

So  far  as  I  have  beer!  able  to  judge,  the 
young  swifts  develop  slowly  and  do  not 
leave  the  nest  until  three  weeks  old.  I 
could  never  be  quite  sure  that  the  young 
examined  were  the  same  individuals,  not 
being  able  to  climb  to  investigate  and  having 
to  depend  solely  on  the  statements  of  others 
who  brought  them  to  me.  They  have 
tumbled  down  in  all  stages  of  growth,  and 
funny  enough  they  are  with  their  long  wings, 
tiny  feet,  and  flat  heads. 
194 


CARPENTERS,    MASONS,    AND    MINERS 

I  have,  however,  seen  them  rise  from  the 
chimney  top  in  first  flight  with  the  adult  birds, 
and,  except  for  their  size,  there  seemed  to 
be  little  difference.  With  a  strength  and 


mm. 


li  We  want  our  mama 

swiftness  of  wing  un- 
surpassed by  any  other 
bird,  the  adults  rise,  circle,  and  soar  for 
hours  early  in  the'  morning  and  through  the 
dusk  of  evening,  entering  and  leaving  the 
chimney  in  companies  with  a  queer  rotary 
motion.  During  the  middle  of  the  day 
they  hang,  bat-like,  on  the  side  of  the  wall 
supported  by  their  claws  and  short  spiny  tail 
after  the  manner  of  woodpeckers  on  a  tree 
trunk. 

Eave-swallows    present    another    curious 
instance  of  a  change  in  the  nesting-habits  of 


NESTLINGS    OF   FOREST  AND    MARSH 

a  species.  Formerly  these  little  masons 
were  cliff-dwellers,  and  hung  their  adobe 
nests  on  the  perpendicular  surface  of  a  canon. 
But  the  advent  of  civilization  offered  them 
the  advantage  of  homes  under  the  protection 
of  man,  and  like  many  of  our  "  Little 
Brothers  of  the  air  "  they  readily  accepted. 
Nowadays  it  is  not  uncommon  to  find  from 
fifty  to  a  hundred  of  these  nests  beneath  the 
eaves  of  a  country  barn,  and  the  farmers  are 
superstitious  about  disturbing  them.  Prob- 
ably the  birds  choose  this  location  on 
account  of  the  myriads  of  insects  always  to 
be  found  near  a  barnyard.  The  same  colony 
returns  year  after  year  to  occupy  the  old 
nesting-site  and  as  many  of  the  old  nests  as 
the  winter  has  left  intact.  Often  they  find 
these  pre-empted  by  the  English  sparrows, 
and  then  a  battle  royal  ensues.  In  only 
one  instance  that  has  come  under  my  obser- 
vation have  the  sparrows  been  allowed  to 
remain. 

The    colony    of  eave-swallows    which    I 
watched  most  closely  was  under  the  east  and 
196 


CARPENTERS,    MASONS,    AND    MINERS 

north  eaves  of  two  barns  which  stood  at 
right  angles  to  each  other,  forming  two  sides 
of  the  barnyard  square.  Here  were  some 
eighty-odd  nests,  and  no  two  were  alike. 
Some  were  retort-shaped,  their  funnel-like 
necks  sticking  out  and  down,  with  the  door- 
way in  the  end  ;  others  were  like  a  wall- 
pocket  open  at  the  top  ;  but  the  greater 
number  were  formed  like  bowls  set  on  edge, 
with  the  door  in  the  middle  where  the 
bottom  of  the  bowl  would  be.  In  one 
corner  at  the  end  of  the  barn,  lack  of  space 
compelled  crowding,  and  the  houses  there 
overlapped  each  other  like  gigantic  wasp- 
nests,  but  every  little  home  had  its  own 
front  door.  The  mud  was  gathered  on  the 
edge  of  a  small  creek  that  ran  within  a  hun- 
dred feet  of  the  barn,  and  was  sticky  yellow 
clay.  The  swallows  flew  down  to  this  in 
small  companies,  and  there  were  always 
one  or  two  on  the  way  going  or  coming. 
Although  we  were  curious  to  know  how 
they  obtained  and  carried  the  mud,  a  watch 
at  the  creek  was  most  unsatisfactory.  They 
197 


NESTLINGS    OF    FOREST  AND    MARSH 

appeared  to  pick  up  as  much  as  their  mouths 
would  hold,  but  whether  they  also  filled 
their  throats,  as  some  aver,  seemed  doubtful 
to  me.  The  only  support  I  could  find  for 
this  view  was  the  shape  and  quantity  of  each 
pellet  as  seen  in  an  old  nest.  Each  one 
seemed  to  have  a  roundness  and  smoothness 
that  would  indicate  a  moulding  in  the  throat. 
Also,  some  of  the  nests  were  so  much  harder 
and  less  crumbly  than  others,  it  would  seem 
there  might  have  been  a  difference  in  the 
saliva  of  the  builders.  The  work  of  con- 
struction itself  was  most  curious.  Founda- 
tions were  laid  in  as  complete  a  circle  as 
possible,  and  where  no  other  nest  or  beam 
interfered  the  result  was  surprisingly  perfect. 
On  this  foundation  were  placed  the  pellets  of 
mud,  like  bricks  on  a  wall  but  in  ever  narrow- 
ing circles,  thus  building  out  and  up  at  the 
same  time.  Unlike  the  work  of  the  robin  or 
the  wood  thrush,  the  brick-laying  of  the  swal- 
lows in  every  case  observed  was  done  from 
the  outside,  the  bird  spitting  out  the  clay  in 
a  lump  and  patting  it  into  place  with  his 
198 


CARPENTERS,    MASONS,    AND    MINERS 

bill.  No  straw  or  hair  or  other  material 
than  clay  was  used  in  the  walls  of  these  nests. 
After  they  were  completed  and  dry,  a  lining 
of  feathers  and  fine  grass  was  placed  in  them. 
In  a  few  of  the  old  nests  housekeeping  had 
already  begun,  and  clutches  of  from  four  to 
seven  white  eggs  marked  with  brown  were 
found  in  each.  Being  obliged  to  leave  that 
locality  for  a  time,  I  could  not  watch  the 
broods  develop.  Several  weeks  later  a  day 
was  spent  there  photographing  the  young 
swallows,  then  about  three  weeks  old. 

The  little  mother  is  soft  drab  brown  in 
color,  and  the  babies  look  like  her.  One  most 
devoted  parent  remained  in  the  nest  and 
let  the  Man  with  the  Camera  take  her  out  be- 
fore he  could  reach  the  little  ones,  and  as  soon 
as  they  were  replaced  on  the  nest  she  was 
there  beside  them  again.  In  fact,  at  every 
eave-swallow's  home  examined  that  day  the 
head  of  the  mother  bird  was  seen  in  the 
doorway.  Blue  jays  and  other  feathered 
cannibals  were  about,  and  well  they  knew 
the  result  of  leaving  the  young  unguarded. 
199 


NESTLINGS    OF    FOREST   AND    MARSH 

The  most  dreaded  of  these  enemies  is  the 
red-headed  woodpecker.  With  diabolic 
cunning  he  knows  when  the  young  are 
newly  hatched.  Clinging  to  the  boards  as 
to  a  tree-trunk,  a  few  strokes  of  his  beak 
suffice  to  crumble  the  nest,  and  snatching 
one  of  the  helpless  fledglings,  this  murderer 
of  infants  flies  away.  The  other  little  ones 
fall  to  the  ground,  but  he  never  picks  up 
one.  No;  he  opens  a  fresh  nest  and  sacrifices 
another  brood  to  finish  his  meal,  while  the 
hapless  babies  on  the  ground  fall  victims  to 
chickens  or  pigs. 

The  blue  jay  is,  in  this  case,  less  destruc- 
tive, for  he  enlarges  the  original  doorway 
of  the  nest  and  helps  himself  to  the  con- 
tents without  wantonly  murdering  more 
than  he  requires  to  satisfy  his  needs.  To 
his  shame  be  it  known  that  a  single  "red- 
head" has  destroyed  six  broods  of  eave- 
swallows  in  one  afternoon,  and  doubtless 
as  many  more  on  other  occasions  when  no 
watcher  was  present  to  report.  And  yet 
he  is  not  listed  among  the  bird  ogres.  Are 
200 


CARPENTERS,    MASONS,    AND    MINERS 


eave-swallows  his  only  victims  ?     And  if  so, 
why  ? 

On  the  inside  of  the  barn  were  the  cup- 
shaped  nests  of  the  barn-swallow.  These 
are  made  quite 
differently,  of  al- 
ternate layers  of 
mud  pellets  and 
hay.  Were  the 
farmers,  so  the 
legend  goes,  to 
allow  one  of  them 
to  be  torn  down, 
lightning  would 
strike  the  barn, 
or  the  crops  would  fail  and  the  store- 
house  remain  empty.  So,  also,  to  cherish 
them  brings  good  fortune,  and  windows  for 
ventilation  are  never  screened  against  their 
entrance.  Once  during  a  never-to-be-for- 
gotten Summer  spent  on  a  farm,  I  lay  on 
the  hay  all  day  and  watched  these  little 
masons  build.  They  came,  male  and  female, 
bringing  little  pellets  of  mud  in  their  bills 

201 


Nest  of  barn  -swallow 


NESTLINGS    OF    FOREST   AND   MARSH 

which  they  plastered  to  the  boards,  using 
their  bills  as  trowels.  Then  straw  or  .hay 
and  horsehair  were  carried  in  long  wisps, 
sometimes  almost  too  heavy  for  the  little 
architect,  and  made  to  stay  in  place  with 
much  poking  and  tucking  down.  Feathers 
were  great  prizes,  and  were  stuck  in  pro- 
miscuously. Some  naturalists  assert  that 
saliva  is  mixed  with  the  mud  to  make  it  stick, 
and  it  seems  to  me  this  must  be  so.  The 
nest  is  so  much  firmer  than  that  of  the  eave- 
swallow  and  can  be  taken  down  intact,  while 
the  other  crumbles  almost  at  a  touch. 

In  several  nests  the  young  were  nearly 
ready  to  fly,  and  their  little  heads  were 
stretched  over  the  edge,  as  if  they  were  try- 
ing to  gather  up  sufficient  courage  to  make 
the  dive.  One  did  so  after  sitting  half  an 
hour  half-way  out,  and  he  landed  with  admi- 
rable precision  on  a  broad  beam.  Having 
rested  a  little  and  been  fed,  he  followed  his 
father  through  the  window  out  into  the  free, 
fresh  air.  What  a  change  for  the  little  fel- 
low from  the  hot  close  air  of  a  hay  loft  to  the 

202 


CARPENTERS,    MASONS,   AND    MINERS 

clear,  cool  green  and  blue  of  the  beautiful 
world  !  It  was  well  worth  risking  a  tumble 
for  such  freedom.  And  do  any  birds  enjoy 
freedom  as  do  the  swallows  ?  Circling  in 
unrivalled  flight,  now  in  the  sky,  now  close 
to  earth,  darting  like  shadows  across  the 
blue  depths,  skimming  the  lightest  spray  of  a 
wave,  soaring,  diving,  turning  with  marvel- 
lous swiftness  in  a  wonderful  game  of  "  Fol- 
low the  leader,"  they  are  the  embodiment  of 
joy. 

At  one  point  in  the  St.  Joe  River  in  Michi- 
gan, the  bank  of  yellow  sand  rises  precipi- 
tously to  a  height  of  fifty  feet.  Here  is  the 
home  of  thousands  of  bank-swallows,  little 
holes  in  the  earth  so  close  together  and  so 
numerous  that  the  surface  looks  as  if  it  had 
been  riddled  by  artillery.  At  the  foot  the 
black  water  swirls  and  eddies,  and  there  is 
said  to  be  no  bottom,  so  deep  is  it.  To 
reach  the  nests  you  must  climb  up,  with  the 
sand  slipping  beneath  your  feet  at  each  step, 
and  with  stories  of  the  people  who  have 
gone  down  and  never  come  up  flitting 
203 


NESTLINGS    OF    FOREST  AND  'MARSH 

through  your  memory.  The  task  is  a 
hard  one,  and  it  is  also  a  useless  one,  for 
bank-swallows  may  be  found  in  any  place 
where  there  are  sand-banks  and  water. 
But  this  colony  is  more  or  less  famous 
on  account  of  its  numbers  ;  and  so  it  must 
be  seen. 

Of  all  the  birds  that  I  have  watched,  none 
have  been  so  timid  and  so  delicate  as  these 
same  bank-swallows.  In  one  nest  that  we 
opened  were  four  fully  fledged  young  who 
popped  out  like  shot  from  a  cannon  at  the 
first  disturbance.  One  of  them  flew  into 
my  hand,  and  died  almost  instantly  from 
fright.  It  has  been  suggested  to  me  since 
that  this  may  have  been  only  a  feint ;  but 
if  so,  it  succeeded,  for  I  thought  him  dead 
and  mourned  my  cruelty  for  days.  Never 
again  have  I  attempted  to  catch  a  bank- 
swallow.  The  nests  were  rudely  excavated 
tunnels  about  two  feet  long,  and  a  little 
larger  at  the  inner  end.  Here  was  placed 
a  lining  of  grass  and  feathers,  and  here  in 
one  nest  we  found  six  small  white  eggs, 
204 


CARPENTERS,    MASONS,    AND    MINERS 

resembling  those  of  the  chimney-swallow 
but  less  transparent.  In  another,  the  newly 
hatched  young  were  absolutely  naked,  and 
so  tiny  that  they  looked  like  a  tangle  of 
angleworms. 

Unless  you  have  watched  these  little  min- 
ers when  with  fluttering  wings  they  strike 
the  first  blow  into  the  hard  clayey  bank, 
you  will  be  puzzled  as  to  how  it  is  done. 
Feet  and  bill  take  an  equal  share,  and  but 
for  the  wings  one  might  suppose  a  small 
gray  mouse  at  work.  The  soil  must  be 
stiffer  than  light  sand  in  order  to  prevent  a 
"  cave  in,"  and  instances  are  recorded  of 
excavations  made  by  bank-swallows  in  lime- 
stone. Those  I  have  investigated  have  been 
in  clay  and  gravelly  soil,  and  even  these 
offered  a  discouraging  resistance  to  the  deli- 
cate beak  and  claws.  Watch  from  an  am- 
bush a  colony  of  bank-swallows  when  the 
sun  is  shining  full  into  each  little  home. 
A  head  appears  at  nearly  every  doorway. 
The  babies  are  peeping  out  curiously  at 
the  big,  bright,  wonderful  world.  A  step 
205 


NESTLINGS    OF    FOREST   AND    MARSH 

overhead,  or  a  sudden  shadow  as  of  a  hawk 
across  the  sun,  and,  as  by  magic,  the  yel- 
low bank  presents  only  a  row  of  empty 
black  holes.  All  the  babies  are  safe  abed 
once  more. 


206 


MONSIEUR    MISCHIEF 

Then  from  a  neighboring  thicket  the  wildest  of  singers, 
Swinging  aloft  on  a  willow  spray  that  hung  over  the  water, 
Shook  from  his  little  throat  such  floods  of  delirious  music 
That  the  whole  air  and  the  woods  and  the  waves  seemed  silent 
to  listen.  : ' '/    LONGFELLOW. 

ONCE  upon  a  time,  long  ago,  a  quaint 
old  house  stood  in  the  midst  of  large 
grounds  on  the  bank  of  a  beautiful  river. 
In  front  of  it  were  lofty  elms,  whose  branches 
interlaced  and  formed  a  perfect  canopy.  At 
the  side  grew  syringa  and  weigelia  bushes  full 
of  beauty  in  their  season,  while  over  the 
piazza  masses  of  purple  wistaria  hung  in 
graceful  profusion.  Back  of  the  house  an 
old-fashioned  apple  orchard  offered  the  finest 
of  playgrounds,  for  through  it  ran  a  small 
brook  where  little  folks  could  fish  with  bent 
pins  and  never  be  drowned. 

But  dearest  of  all  was  the  garden  with  its 
old-fashioned  roses  ;  its  walks  bordered  with 
pansies,  mignonette,  and  sweet  alyssum  ;  its 

207 


NESTLINGS    OF   FOREST  AND    MARSH 

flaunting  tulips  and  pure  white  lilies.  Here 
were  enacted  those  tragic  comedies  which 
form  so  large  a  part  of  a  child's  life.  Here 
a  small  girl  encountered  two  very  dreadful 
experiences,  her  first  angle-worm  and  her 
first  bird-nest.  Down  in  a  far-away  neglected 
corner  of  this  delightful  garden  were  some 
red-raspberry  vines,  and  there  a  catbird 
had  built  her  nest.  And  it  happened  one 
day  that  this  little  maid,  eating  her  fill  of 
raspberries,  came  upon  it  among  the  low 
branches. 

Five  funny  little  catbird  babies  filled  it  to 
overflowing.  Five  featherless  necks  sur- 
mounted by  five  terrible  sightless  heads 
wriggled  and  stretched  in  blind  helplessness. 
Five  big  yellow  mouths  opened  for  food. 
Here  was  a  chance !  They  were  hungry. 
The  little  maid  would  feed  them.  Of  course 
they  liked  raspberries  ;  else  why  did  they  live 
right  there  in  that  bush  ?  So  she  crammed 
them  full  of  raspberries,  and  then  a  dread- 
ful thing  happened :  they  gasped,  choked, 
shivered,  and  seemed  to  be  dying.  It  was 
208 


MONSIEUR   MISCHIEF 


too  horrible,  and  bursting  into  tears,  the 
small  girl  ran  to  the  house  and  sobbed 
out  the  story  in  her  mother's  arms. 


Upper,  catbirds  three  weeks  old.     The  same,  two  weeks  later 

Many  a  time  since  then   has  she   found 
a  nest  of  young  catbirds  and  "jiggled  "  the 
edge  to  make  them  open  their  mouths,  or, 
14  209 


NESTLINGS    OF   FOREST  AND    MARSH 

if  that  failed,  smacked  her  lips  on  the  back 
of  her  hand  to  imitate  the  mother's  chuck, 
which  ruse  is  usually  successful. 

Have  you  ever  studied  a  catbird  ?  If  not, 
do  so  at  the  first  opportunity.  You  will 
find  him  in  a  tangle  of  wild  grape-vine  or 
a  syringa  bush  or  a  willow  thicket.  You 
will  hear  him  everywhere,  for  he  is  a  ven- 
triloquist, and  from  one  small  throat  can 
send  out  a  dozen  different  bird  songs  in 
as  many  directions.  How  often  will  he  out- 
wit you,  and  know  it  too  !  He  will  mock 
you,  jeer  at  you,  invite  you  to  follow  him, 
tease  you  with  pretence  of  nest-guarding, 
and  all  with  the  grace  of  a  Chesterfield. 
You  will  never  learn  his  mood.  Many  a 
scramble  through  a  brambly  thicket,  many 
a  chase  through  fern  tangles  and  wet  places, 
will  he  lead  you,  ever  farther  and  farther 
from  his  nest.  And  when  you  are  sure 
you  have  finally  reached  his  haunt,  he  will 
fly  like  a  shadow  back  through  the  trees 
to  the  starting-place  again.  Should  you 
discover  his  nest,  how  valiantly  will  he 

210 


MONSIEUR   MISCHIEF 


defend  it.  Woe  to  your  eyes  if  you  venture 
to  meddle.  The  bird  so  full  of  elegant 
grace  in  every  movement  becomes  a  scream- 
ing fury,  bristling  with  rage.  No  soft  note 
comes  from  his  throat,  but  the  hideous 
"  meauw  "  that  has  given  him  his  name. 

He  is  a  great  dandy,  and  if  you  are  an 
early  riser,  you  may  see  him  at  his  morn- 
ing toilet.  First,  about  .  four  o'clock  in 
the  morning,  comes  a  plunge  in  clean  cold 
water  of  brook  or  pond.  Such  a  splatter  ! 
Showers  of  pearly  drops  fly  in  every  direc- 
tion. A  wofully  bedraggled-looking  bird 
flies  out  from  it.  Then  each  separate  feather 
must  be  combed  and  dressed  over  and  over 
again.  It  is  a  long  process,  —  I  have  fre- 
quently seen  it  last  half  an  hour,  even  with- 
out the  sun-bath  which  follows  it.  After 
this  he  is  ready  for  breakfast  and  song,  — 
the  very  sweetest  song  of  all  the  day,  a  joy- 
ous rhapsody  on  the  sunshine  and  beauty 
of  the  glorious  morning.  The  air  is  so  still 
we  hold  our  breath  to  listen,  and  listen  and 
marvel. 

211 


NESTLINGS    OF   FOREST  AND    MARSH 

One  catbird  wooing  that  I  watched  was 
exceedingly  funny,  even  though  it  involved 
some  heart-burning.  The  male  was  a  hand- 
some fellow  and  very  popular  with  the 
pretty  ladies  in  gray.  He  was  something 
of  a  flirt,  I  fear,  for  two  of  them  followed 
him  about  for  days,  often  quarrelling  desper- 
ately for  his  favor.  Finally,  by  some  occult 
choice,  one  took  precedence,  and  nest  build- 
ing was  started.  But  the  rejected  sweet- 
heart or  divorcee  would  not  be  pacified,  and 
as  fast  as  material  was  carried  to  the  chosen 
site  she  scratched  it  out  and  destroyed  every 
vestige  of  the  structure.  How  they  finally 
settled  matters  1  never  knew  ;  but  the  tor- 
mentor disappeared,  and  the  now  happy  pair 
began  a  home  in  a  wild-rose  tangle,  not 
more  than  four  feet  from  the  ground  and 
so  exposed  that  with  a  field-glass  I  could 
see  most  of  the  housekeeping.  There  was 
much  consulting  and  trying  one  bush  and 
another  before  this  one  was  finally  chosen. 
Then  one  day  the  builders  came  with  a 
piece  of  newspaper  which  was  placed  in  the 

212 


MONSIEUR   MISCHIEF 


notch,  jumped  on,  and  pulled  about  until 
it  was  in  a  satisfactory  position.  This  was 
the  first  material  I  had  seen  them  bring, 
but  a  few  twigs  may  have  preceded  it,  for 
many  followed.  Twigs,  shreds  of  grape- 
vine fibre,  string,  more  paper,  grass,  and, 
last  of  all,  fine  hair-like  rootlets  were  brought 
by  male  and  female  and  woven  into  the  nest 
by  their  turning  round  and  round  in  it. 

On  the  fourth  day  after  the  work  was 
begun,  a  blue-green  egg  lay  there,  and  each 
morning  one  more,  until  there  were  four. 
Then  the  sleek  gray  mother  began  her 
cares,  resting  quietly  on  the  nest  most  of 
the  day.  Her  mate  sang  in  a  thicket  quite 
near,  voicing  in  sweetest  melody  all  the  love 
and  joy  that  a  happy  bird  may  feel,  not  so 
loud  or  so  jubilant  as  during  his  bachelor 
days,  but  low  and  tender,  like  a  whisper  for 
her  ears  alone,  all  about  the  secret  they  two 
knew  and  what  would  happen  some  day  in 
that  little  nest.  If  I  went  near  she  did  not 
seem  timid,  but  rather  indignant  at  my  in- 
trusion. As  long  as  I  looked  directly  at  her, 
213 


NESTLINGS    OF    FOREST  AND   MARSH 

she  sat  still,  but  the  instant  I  glanced  away 
she  was  gone.  So  I  troubled  her  as  seldom 
as  possible,  wishing  to  study  her  natural 
family  life,  not  one  rendered  strange  by  fear, 
and  when  the  babies  were  out,  I  had  my 
reward. 

So  far  as  I  could  see,  they  looked  just  like 
other  young  catbirds,  but  the  parents  saw 
a  wide  difference.  The  male  often  stood 
at  the  nest  looking  down  upon  them  with 
undisguised  admiration,  thereby  evoking  an 
impatient  chuck  from  the  more  practical 
mother  bird.  What  she  wanted  for  those 
little  ones  was  food,  not  adulation  ;  their 
mouths  were  open,  some  one  must  hunt, 
and  for  her  part  it  was  enough  to  have 
brought  such  wonderful  creatures  out  of 
the  shells.  Yet  she  took  her  fair  share  of 
the  labor,  searching  under  the  leaves  and' 
in  the  crotches  for  insects  while  her  spouse 
brought  caterpillars.  It  seemed  to  me  there 
were  fewer  earthworms  and  more  ants  and 
spiders  in  the  catbird  menu  than  is  usual 
with  soft-billed  birds.  There  were  no  ber- 
214 


MONSIEUR  MISCHIEF 


ries  near,  and  yet  one  day  I  saw  the  father 
bird  fly  home  across  the  fields  carrying  a 
bright  red  raspberry  in  his  beak.  I  was 
not  there  to  see  whether  this  was  given  to 


A  tilt  between  a  bluebird  and  a  catbird,  each  four  weeks  old 

the  mother  or  the  nestlings,  so  do  not  know 
whether  it  forms  part  of  an  infant's  diet. 
He  carried  it  so  that  it  looked  like  a  red 
thimble  on  the  end  of  his  beak,  and  could 
be  seen  a  long  way  off.  After  this  I 
watched  for  signs  of  more  berries  at  every 
catbird's  nest,  but  found  none. 

In  a  hollow  fence-post  near  the  catbirds,  a 
family  of  bluebirds  were  hatched  at  the  same 
2I5 


\ 


NESTLINGS    OF    FOREST  AND    MARSH 

time,  and  it  was  most  interesting  to  notice 
how  much  more  slowly  the  latter  developed. 
When  the  catbird  babies  were  fully  dressed 
in  pinfeathers,  the  down  had  scarcely  begun 
to  show  on  the  bluebirds.  Their  eyes  were 
three  days  later  in  opening,  and  the  birds 
themselves  were  only  half  the  size.  Both 
families  were  very  late,  and  were  second, 
or  possibly  third,  broods,  as  they  were 
hatched  July  10,  long  after  the  first  bluebird 
brood  had  flown. 

A  propos  of  this,  a  pair  of  bluebirds  had 
reared  a  brood  in  that  same  post  in  May, 
but  I  do  not  know  whether  it  was  this  same 
pair  or  some  other.  It  was  presumably  the 
same  pair,  for  no  one  can  say  how  many 
species  choose  the  same  nest  year  after  year. 
We  know  phoebes  and  red-headed  wood- 
peckers do  so,  and  I  have  felt  quite  sure 
chimney  swifts  sometimes  do. 

When  the  little  catbirds  were  ready  to  fly, 
there  was  a  great  commotion.  An  innocent- 
looking  white  kitten  strolled  by,  to  the  con- 
sternation of  the  parents.  One  baby  was 
216 


MONSIEUR    MISCHIEF 


already  out  of  the  nest,  in  the  grass,  and 
another  was  balancing  his  funny  fat  body  on 
uncertain  little  legs  just  at  the  edge,  ready 
for  flight.  I  ran  to  the  rescue,  and  picked 
up  the  baby  in  the  grass.  He  was  ungrate- 
ful, as  were  also  the  father  and  mother. 
With  all  his  little  strength  he  fought  to  be 
free,  and  the  furious  onslaught  of  the  mother 
bird  made  me  wish  I  had  a  hat  on.  As 
soon  as  placed  in  the  nest,  he  was  out  again, 
wildly  fluttering  back  to  danger.  In  the 
mean  time  the  other  baby  had  flown  so  reck- 
lessly that  he  could  nowhere  be  found. 
There  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  capture 
the  kitten  and  carry  her  away.  This,  after 
some  coaxing,  she  allowed  me  to  do. 

On  returning  to  the  catbirds,  I  found 
their  troubles  had  increased,  for  a  third  had 
landed  head  downward  in  the  rosebush 
where  the  thorns  were  thickest,  and  the 
branches  one  complete  tangle.  The  bush 
was  loath  to  give  him  up,  but  with  hands, 
arms,  and  face  scratched  in  the  struggle,  I 
finally  extricated  him,  and  placed  him  right 
217 


NESTLINGS    OF   FOREST  AND    MARSH 

side  up  on  a  fence-post.  By  this  time  the 
father  had  collected  his  wits  and  his  family, 
or  at  least  the  first  two,  and  now  brought 
food  to  the  third  baby.  But  he  did  not 
approve  of  a  fence-post,  and  coaxed  the 
youngster  down  into  the  fern  tangle,  where 
the  other  two  were. 

The  babies  left  in  the  nest  were  demand- 
ing the  entire  attention  of  the  mother,  and 
would  probably  not  have  flown  that  day, 
but  in  a  spirit  of  curiosity  I  "jiggled " 
the  home  the  least  little  bit,  and  out  they 
went.  They  were  strong  enough  to  fly, 
and  I  think  both  parents  felt  easier  to  have 
the  family  leave  home  together.  An  hour 
later  they  were  sitting  on  the  various  branches 
of  an  elderberry  bush,  as  quiet  and  well- 
behaved  as  young  birds  could  be.  They 
allowed  me  to  catch  them,  and  seemed  be- 
wildered with  their  newly  acquired  freedom. 

The  next  lesson  was  to  teach  them  to  fly 

upward  and  land  easily  on  a  twig,  and  for 

some  reason    this  was  a  difficult   task.     At 

first  it  was  done  by  very  short  flights,  —  not 

218 


MONSIEUR    MISCHIEF 


more  than  a  foot  or  two,  —  and  these  were 
usually  successful ;  but  when  longer  ones 
were  attempted,  the  result  was  quite  often 
an  ignominious  tumble  to  the  ground. 

They  soon  learned  to  scold  as  the  parents 
did,  and  to  try  funny  little  musical  chuckles 
and  gurgling  notes,  which  reminded  me  of  a 
rooster's  first  crow.  One  learned  to  sing 
quite  a  bit  when  six  weeks  old.  Two  of 
them  remained  in  the  immediate  vicinity  of 
their  babyhood's  home  with  the  mother 
until  they  were  nine  weeks  old  and  had 
nearly  finished  moulting.  At  this  time, 
August  29th,  the  earth  was  parched  with 
drouth,  and  the  little  creek  had  become 
a  clay-baked  path  through  the  wood.  In 
pity,  as  well  as  curiosity,  I  put  a  small  glass 
dish  filled  with  water  in  the  catbirds'  nook. 

As  soon  as  I  had  hidden,  down  they  came 
for  a  bath.  The  older  had  grown  quite  a 
respectable  tail,  and  his  pride  in  it  was' 
ludicrous.  Catching  sight  of  it  as  it  jerked 
excitedly  up  and  down,  he  regarded  it  with 
the  wide-eyed  amazement  of  a  human  baby 
219 


NESTLINGS    OF    FOREST  AND    MARSH 


discovering  his  hands.  Meanwhile  the  tail- 
less younger  brother  had  jumped  into  the 
water  and  was  splashing  in  great  delight. 
Alas  !  among  birds  the  best  equipped  de- 
mands the 
right  of  way. 
Might  is 
always  right 
in  the  forest 
world,  and  the 
moment  the 
older  nestling 
discovered  the 
usurpation  of 
his  privileges  he  attacked  the  bather  with 
savage  pecks  and  shrill  "  meauws."  The 
little  fellow  was  plucky,  and  splashed  on 
with  undisturbed  vigor.  Finally,  as  if  with 
deliberate  intent  to  humiliate  and  insult,  the 
tyrant  seized  the  ragged  brown  feathers 
which  hung  limp  where  a  dashing  black 
tail  should  have  been,  and  dragged  the  help- 
less fledgling  out  backward.  This  done,  he 
proceeded  to  investigate  the  novel  bathtub 

220 


The  same  birds  as  in  preceding  cut,  showing 
progress  in  feathering  and  relative  growth 


MONSIEUR   MISCHIEF 


before  getting  into  it.  The  glass  gave  out 
a  clear  tinkling  sound  when  he  pecked  at  it. 
Was  it  alive  ?  He  hopped  backward  with 
comical  dismay,  almost  tumbling  over  in 
surprise  and  fright.  Was  it  the  sound,  or  a 
reflection  in  the  water  that  startled  him  ? 
Once  more  he  tried  it,  very  cautiously,  and 
receiving  no  harm,  played  a  merry  tune  on 
it,  circling  around  it  as  he  struck  the  edge 
with  his  beak. 

Attracted  by  the  noise,  the  half-dry  young- 
ster who  had  been  driven  off  returned  to 
join  in  the  fun.  This  was  not  to  be  allowed 
for  one  moment !  With  an  angry  flirt  of 
his  funny  little  tail,  Monsieur  Mischief  lit 
fairly  in  the  middle  of  the  tub  and  faced 
the  intruder  with  defiant  chucks.  As  the 
other  darted  away,  he  hopped  out  again, 
having  made  no  attempt  at  bathing.  This 
was  repeated  twice,  until  finally  he  too  did 
some  energetic  splashing  and  retired  to  a 
sunny  perch  to  dry.  After  twenty  minutes 
spent  in  preening  his  dishevelled  plumage, 
he  was  on  the  qui  vive  for  fresh  mischief. 

221 


NESTLINGS    OF    FOREST    AND    MARSH 

His  inoffensive  little  brother  sat  contentedly 
on  one  foot  taking  a  sun-bath,  the  other 
foot  being  tucked  up  among  his  feathers. 
No  sooner  had  Monsieur  Mischief  spied 
this  than  he  alighted  close  by,  and  after 
peeking  under  in  great  curiosity  to  see 
what  had  become  of  the  missing  foot,  seized 
it  and  pulled  it  down  into  place.  There 
was  no  audible  protest  at  his  interference, 
but  the  little  foot  was  curled  up  again  as 
soon  as  released.  Again  he  seized  it  and 
again  it  was  silently  drawn  up.  At  the 
third  attempt  patience  ceased  to  be  a  virtue, 
and  the  little  fellow,  unable  to  defend  him- 
self, flew  away.  Doubtless  the  tormentor 
would  have  followed  him  but  for  a  big  dragon- 
fly which  came  soaring  past  and  proved 
too  alluring  game. 

It  was  while  watching  a  brood  of  catbirds 
several  years  ago  that  I  discovered  a  very 
interesting  fact  in  bird  economy.  The 
excrements  of  the  young  are  voided  in  tiny 
sacs,  and  are  instantly  carried  away  in  the 
beak  of  the  parent,  who  drops  them  during 

222 


MONSIEUR    MISCHIEF 


flight  at  a  distance  from  the  nest.  Thus  the 
home  is  kept  neat,  and  no  betraying  debris 
falls  upon  the  ground  below. 

An  attachment  for  their  old  nesting-place 
is,  I  believe,  characteristic  of  the  catbirds, 
so  often  have  I  heard  them  complaining  at 
any  approach  to  their  empty  nests.  This 
family  was  no  exception,  and  long  after  the 
little  ones  were  out  they  resented  with  loud 
protests  any  intrusion  on  their  former 
nursery. 

As  they  looked  at  me  with  eyes  that 
questioned  my  intentions,  and  seemed  to 
read  my  inmost  thoughts,  I  became  more 
and  more  impressed  with  their  startling 
intelligence.  Did  they  really  divine  my 
thoughts  ?  How  could  they  tell  I  coveted 
that  well-made  nest  ? 


223 


A    BROWN   THRASHER 

He  sings  each  song  twice  over, 

Lest  you  should  think  he  never  could  recapture 

That  first  fine  careless  rapture. 

ROBERT  BROWNING. 

THE  brown  thrasher,  or  "  sandy  mock- 
ing-bird "  of  Virginia,  is  one  of  the 
best  loved  but  least  understood  birds  of 
our  northwestern  avifauna.  The  term 
"  thrush "  so  often  applied  to  him  does 
him  an  injustice,  for  no  bird  has  greater 
individuality  than  he,  or  stands  out  more 
distinctly  from  the  rest  of  the  bird  world 
when  once  you  have  come  to  know  him. 
To  be  sure,  he  is  the  hero  of  the  children's 
rhyme,  — 

**  There  's  a  merry  brown  thrush  sitting  up  in  the  tree  ; 
He's  singing  to  you,  he  's  singing  to  me,"  — 

but  he  really  belongs  to  the  mocking-bird 
and  wren  family,  and  has  not  a  single  char- 
acteristic  in   common   with   thrushes.     His 
224 


A    BROWN   THRASHER 


ever  expressive  tail  —  which,  by  the  way,  may 
have  given  him  his  name  —  would  alone  pro- 
claim him  first  cousin  to  the  wrens.  Of 
slender,  graceful  form  and  rich  brown  color- 


Nest  of  thrasher  on  the  ground 

ing,  he  is  the  aristocrat  of  the  bird  world, 
exclusive,  elegant.  Yet  full  of  moods  is  he. 
Inquisitive  as  a  blue  jay,  jolly  as  a  black- 
bird, passionate  as  an  oriole,  gentle  as  a 
thrush,  sad  as  a  wood  dove,  who  shall 
describe  him  or  his  song?  He  chooses  the 
topmost  bough  of  the  tallest  tree  from  which 
to  enchant  a  listening  world.  "  Look  at 
me  !  Hear  me  sing!  Here  am  I,  way  up 
high.  I  can  sing,  I  can  sing.  Go  away,  go 
away,  bird  robber,  bird  robber."  Or  from 
a  thicket  you  may  hear  him  pour  out 
15  225 


NESTLINGS    OF    FOREST  AND    MARSH 

his  heart  in  less  rollicking  melody,  and  in- 
terpret according  to  your  fancy,  but  some- 
thing he  will  say  to  you  in  spite  of  yourself. 
One  that  I  watched  at  nesting-time  would 
pause  in  his  most  brilliant  medley  to  warn 
his  mate  of  my  approach.  She  was  brood- 
ing on  the  nest  a  hundred  feet  away  in  a 
thorn-bush,  and  he  kept  one  eye  on  her  and 
the  other  on  me.  "  Keep  quiet,  be  quiet  ! 
Some  one 's  near !  Don't  move  !  I  '11 
watch  ;  I  can  see  !  Look  at  me,  look  at 
me  ! "  he  would  say  in  a  ventriloquist's 
undertone.  Then  bursting  out  again  with 
a  shower  of  music,  he  would  make  me  for- 
get all  else  in  listening  to  him.  The  nearer 
I  approached  the  nest,  the  more  enthusias- 
tic became  his  song,  until  when  within  a  few 
feet  of  it  the  mother  flew  off  and  he  became 
suddenly  silent.  A  moment  later  he  was 
close  at  my  side,  with  pleading,  pathetic 
notes  that  said  as  plainly  as  any  speech  from 
human  lips,  "  Go  away,  do  !  Go  away, 
do  !  "  always  with  the  same  accent  and  the 
same  pause  after  "  away  "  for  greater  empha- 
226 


A    BROWN   THRASHER 


sis  on  the  "  do,"  which  was  delivered  with  a 
long  downward  inflection.  Between  these 
calls  he  voiced  a  protesting  "  chuck  "  in  so 
gentle  a  tone  that  he  only  tempted  me  to 
stay  and  listen.  Indeed,  so  exceedingly 
polite  and  gen- 
tlemanly was 
he  that  I  at 
once  decided 
this  was  a  bird 
worth  watch- 
ing, for  at  the 
e  igh t  other  | 
thrashers'  nests 
in  that  same 
field  I  had  been 
greeted  with 
harsh  squawks 

by  both  parents.      Thorn-bush' the  Crasher's  favorite  nesting-place 

His  nest  was  in  the  centre  of  a  large 
thorn-bush  that  stood  somewhat  by  itself 
in  a  lakeside  meadow.  It  was  a  large, 
loosely  made  structure  of  twigs,  yet  lined 
with  the  greatest  care  with  fine  grasses 
227 


NESTLINGS    OF    FOREST  AND    MARSH 

and  rootlets.  No  paper  or  foreign  sub- 
stance was  woven  into  it,  as  is  usual  with 
his  cousin  the  catbird.  Here  there  were 
five  long,  light-colored  eggs,  rounding  at 
both  ends,  and  thickly  covered  with  fine 
chocolate  specks.  The  ground  rose  grad- 
ually from  the  bush  on  the  side  away 
from  the  lake,  and  there  under  a  spread- 
ing oak  I  watched  the  mother  brood  and 
heard  the  father  sing  day  after  day.  Not 
long,  however,  for  one  morning  the  bush 
was  deserted. 

"  No  bird  song  echoed  down  the  hill, 
The  tangled  bank  below  was  still." 

In  the  still  small  hours  of  the  morning  some 
enemy  had  devastated  that  pretty  home,  and 
only  one  egg,  dropped  in  the  scuffle,  re- 
mained on  the  ground  to  tell  the  story. 
Nor  am  I  ashamed  to  confess  that  tears  of 
disappointment  and  of  sympathy  filled  my 
eyes. 

Resolved  to  ascertain   if  possible  whether 
the   father    bird    had    fallen    a    victim    also, 
228 


A    BROWN    THRASHER 


I  lingered  in  that  vicinity  all  day.  Just  at 
twilight  I  heard  him  on  the  same  tree-top  as 
usual,  and  the  next  morning  he  was  there 
again.  To  one  who  loves  thrashers  there 
could  be  no  mistaking  those  mellow  tones 
or  that  peculiar  ventriloquistic  song.  No 
other  thrasher  has  ever  quite  equalled  it  to 
my  ears. 

I  knew  he  would  build  again  somewhere, 
but  days  passed  without  my  discovering 
where  ;  and  then,  passing  through  a  group 
of  thorn-bushes  several  hundred  feet  from 
the  site  of  the  first  nest,  I  heard  the  old, 
sweet,  cc  Go  away,  do." 

This  was  the  sound  I  longed  most  to 
hear,  for  it  told  me  that  my  thrasher  had  a 
home  somewhere  near,  and  that  with  patience 
I  might  find  it.  The  first  nest  was  four 
feet  from  the  ground,  but  this  one  was 
down  among  the  grasses  and  under  a  small 
thorn-bush.  So  well  concealed  was  it  that 
only  the  flight  of  the  startled  mother  bird 
betrayed  it  to  me.  In  it  were  five  eggs 
of  the  thrasher  and  one  of  a  cowbird.  I 
229 


NESTLINGS    OF    FOREST  AND   MARSH 

promptly  took  out  the  latter,  and  have  been 
sorry  ever  since.  Not  that  I  have  any  liking 
for  cowbirds,  but  removing  it  spoiled  the 
interesting  experiment  of  watching  a  young 
cowbird  develop  among  a  family  of  baby 
thrashers.  I  believe  in  this  case  he  would 
have  been  worsted. 

A  few  days  after  rinding  this  nest  we  were 
surprised  one  fine  morning  to  see  every  egg 
hatched  and  five  naked,  flesh-colored  babies 
snugly  tucked  together  there.  An  effort  to 
lift  one  disturbed  them  all. 

The  mother  was  quite  fearless  when  on 
the  nest,  and  allowed  us  to  come  close  to 
her.  At  my  approach  she  flattened  her 
body,  and  her  eyes  flashed  anger  as  well  as 
fear.  If  driven  off,  she  alighted  near,  jerk- 
ing her  long  tail  in  impotent  rage.  It  is 
wonderful  how  many  emotions  are  expressed 
by  a  bird's  tail,  especially  if  that  bird  belongs 
to  the  thrasher  or  wren  family.  If,  however, 
she  happened  to  be  away  when  we  called, 
she  could  not  be  induced  to  go  back  while 
we  remained  in  the  vicinity. 
230 


A    BROWN   THRASHER 


The  nests  of  brown  thrasher  babies  are 
made  of  rougher  material  than  those  of 
more  tender  nestlings,  possibly  to  give  the 
baby  feet  a  chance  to  grasp  and  stretch  and 
the  tender  limbs  to  obtain  strength.  It  was 
a  funny  sight  to  see  those  young  thrashers 
raise  themselves  to  their  fullest  height,  and 
then  stretch  limb  by  limb  and  wing  by  wing. 
They  were  hearty,  hungry  youngsters,  beg- 
ging for  food  early  and  often.  Both  parents 
were  kept  busy  bringing  worms,  beetles, 
grasshoppers,  moths,  and  spiders.  Every- 
thing went  with  them.  I  could  not  see  that 
they  evinced  partiality  for  any  especial 
menu.  So  long  as  it  was  brought  every 
twenty  minutes,  and  plenty  of  it,  they  were 
satisfied.  I  frequently  saw  the  father  ham- 
mer away  at  some  kind  of  food  on  the  limb 
of  a  tree.  He  would  rise  up  to  his  fullest 
height,  and  strike  down  with  his  beak, 
pickaxe  fashion,  on  the  offending  morsel, 
but  I  never  discovered  whether  this  was 
a  hardshell  beetle,  or  a  nut,  or  what  it 
was. 

231 


NESTLINGS    OF   FOREST  AND    MARSH 

He  never  failed  to  greet  us  with  the  same 
polite  protest,  and  not  once  did  I  go  there 
and  find  him  off  guard.  Possibly  his 
former  sad  experience  had  warned  him  of 
danger,  for  this  family  were  reared  in  safety. 


iby  thrashers,  ten  days  old 

When  they  were  six  days  old,  we  pho- 
tographed them,  and  again  on  the  eighth 
day.  Their  wing  and  tail  feathers  were  a 
soft  red  brown  where  they  were  out  of  the 
quills,  and  brown  feathers  covered  head 
and  back.  The  underparts  were  sparsely 
feathered  in  white,  striped  at  the  sides  of 
the  throat  and  spotted  on  the  breast  with 
brown,  like  the  adult  thrashers.  Large 
yellow  bills  and  very  long  yellowish  legs 
gave  them  an  overgrown  appearance,  like 
a  schoolboy  who  has  outstripped  his  clothes. 
232 


A    BROWN    THRASHER 


Although  these  same  legs  seemed  to  be 
too  weak  for  perching,  nevertheless  when 
we  put  them  back  into  the  nest  the  young 
birds  with  one  accord  refused  to  stay  there 
and  scampered  in  every  direction.  After 
many  catchings  and  attempts  to  make  them 
cuddle  down  in  bed  like  well-behaved  babies, 
we  at  last  succeeded.  But  the  next  day  they 
were  off  early  and  could  nowhere  be  found. 
The  father  was  still  there,  and  from  his 
anxiety  I  knew  they  were  hidden  in  the 
vicinity,  but  every  effort  to  discover  their 
whereabouts  failed.  A  week  later  we  came 
upon  one  perched  on  a  low  branch  of  a 
thorn-bush  only  ten  feet  from  his  original 
nursery.  How  handsome  he  was  with  his 
clear  white  and  brown  breast  and  bright 
chestnut  back,  the  yellow  eye-ring  giving 
him  an  appearance  of  great  intelligence. 
Nor,  with  such  a  father,  could  this  have 
been  belied.  He  had  grown  quite  a 
respectable  stub  of  a  tail,  and  could  fly 
short  distances.  How  I  did  want  to  take 
him  home  with  me  just  long  enough  to 
233 


NESTLINGS    OF   FOREST  AND   MARSH 

study  him  a  little,  and  then  release  him 
in  time  for  his  Fall  migration.  But  the 
laws  of  that  State  protect  song-birds  even 
from  would-be  naturalists,  I  am  glad  to 
say,  and  this  interesting  nestling  was  left 
with  his  doting  parents. 

These  five  youngsters  were  remarkably 
silent  from  the  first,  making  no  protest  at 
being  caught  except  by  escaping  as  rapidly 
as  possible.  And  during  the  weeks  that 
followed  their  debut  into  the  free  life  of  the 
wood,  I  never  heard  them  utter  more  than  a 
very  low  chirp  when  hungry.  The  entire 
family  stayed  within  fifty  yards  of  their  birth- 
place for  weeks,  and  the  father  never  failed 
to  request  us  to  "  Go  away,  do ! "  in  his 
habitual  polite  manner. 

After  a  time  1  heard  him  singing  very 
early  in  the  morning,  and  again  just  at  sun- 
set, but  k  was  not  his  usual  jubilant  medley 
of  nonsense.  Family  responsibilities  were 
heavy  upon  him,  and  the  dread  of  losing  any 
one  of  those  five  wonderful  young  thrashers 
made  him  very  wary.  He  slept  each  night 
234 


A    BROWN    THRASHER 


in  a  thorn-bush,  and  cer- 
tain am  I  that  those  nest- 
lings were  there  also, 
though  I  never  could  find 
it  in  my  heart  to  look. 

It  was  a  far  cry  from  the 
large,  loosely  woven  cradle 
of  the  thrashers  to  a  tiny 
nest  of  a  pair  of  hair-birds 
in  the  same  thorn-bush. 
This  was  built  in  the  cen- 
tre of  one  of  the  turreted 
branches,  and  so  securely 
hidden  one  would  never 
suspect  its  presence.  The 
wee  mother  had  a  daunt- 
less courage,  and  more 
than  once  allowed  me  to 
touch  her  before  she  could 
be  induced  to  leave  the 
nest.  She  was  a  fluffy, 
fascinating  bit  of  soft 
grayish-brown  and  buff, 
with  sparkling  bead-like 
235 


Hair-bird's  nest  in  same 
thorn-bush 


NESTLINGS   OF    FOREST  AND    MARSH 

eyes  that  flashed  indignant  protest  at  my 
intrusion,  and  seemed  to  say  as  plainly 
as  words,  "  If  you  were  not  so  big,  you 
would  never  dare  be  so  rude  to  me." 

The  nest  was  an 
exquisite    little 
affair  of  fine  root- 
|fe  lets,  woven  into  a 

•R      • 

perfect  hemisphere 
and  lined  with  hair. 
The  inside  rim 
measured  only  one 
and  a  quarter  inches 

Young  hair-birds  and  undeveloped  egg      . 

in     diameter,     and 

the  outer  not  quite  two  inches.  In  it 
were  three  very  tiny  bluish-green  eggs 
speckled  with  brown.  Two  of  these  hatched 
into  the  smallest  and  cunningest  babies  I 
have  ever  seen,  unless  it  were  those  of  the 
yellow  warbler.  They  were  so  perfect,  yet 
so  petite.  When  they  were  six  days  old, 
the  Man  with  the  Camera  essayed  to 
photograph  them,  but  so  tiny  were  they 
we  feared  to  injure  them  by  making  them 
236 


A    BROWN    THRASHER 


perch,  and  no  baby  looks  well  lying  flat 
on  its  face. 

I  wondered  that  the  thrashers  had  not 
driven  them  away,  but  apparently  the  great- 
est harmony  reigned  between  them,  and  the 
two  families  were  reared  together,  one  in  the 
sky  parlor  and  the  other  on  the  ground 
floor. 

The  little  hair-birds,  however,  fell  victims 
to  some  bird  of  prey  as  soon  as  they  left  the 
nest,  and  for  days  the  desolate  father  and 
mother  haunted  the  thorn-bush  alone.  Thus 
ended  another  of  the  many  tragedies  in 
birdland. 


237 


CCEUR    DE   LION 

"  He  would  come  blustering  upon  them,  like  a  sudden 
wind  among  dead  leaves,  and  drive  them  all  apart."  — 
TENNYSON,  Idylls  of  the  King. 

ABASHING,  dauntless  cavalier  is  this 
tyrant  flycatcher,  or  kingbird  ;  well- 
named,  too,  for  he  it  is  who  makes  life  miser- 
able for  the  crows,  who  drives  all  feathered 
intruders  from  his  nest  tree,  and  tolerates  no 
interference  with  his  domestic  affairs.  He 
it  is  who  sits  swinging  on  a  barbed-wire 
fence  or  weed-stalk,  and  does  not  trouble 
himself  to  move  as  you  stroll  by. 

His  nest  is  usually  built  in  an  orchard, 
high  in  the  branches  of  an  old  apple-tree, 
and  woe  to  any  bird  who  alights  there.  Red- 
headed woodpeckers,  towhees,  orioles,  and 
cuckoos  I  have  seen  routed  in  one  morning. 
An  apple  orchard  is  not  the  usual  resort  of 
towhees,  but  this  pair  were  original.  Hav- 
238 


CCEUR   DE   LION 


ing  raised  their  brood  in  the  copse  close  by 
the  deep  wood,  they  speedily  decided  to 
continue  the  education  of  the  little  ones  in 
the  orchard,  and  each  morning  one  might 
hear  their  silver  song  bells  ringing  from  the 
apple-trees.  There  was  a  daily  battle  with 
the  kingbirds,  and  a  daily  defeat  long  after 
the  young  flycatchers  were  grown  up. 

The  only  birds  these  "  tyrants  "  would 
tolerate  were  a  pair  of  orchard  orioles  who 
were  there  before  them,  and  had  hung  a 
cosey  nest  of  orchard  grass  from  a  limb  on 
the  south  side  of  the  tree.  When  the  king- 
birds came,  the  orioles  protested,  and  for  a  few 
days  war  raged  ;  but  the  orioles  had  eggs  in 
their  green  cradle  and  would  not  be  driven 
away.  The  tyrants,  unwilling  to  acknowl- 
edge themselves  conquered,  decided  to  com- 
promise, and  built  on  the  west  side  about 
five  feet  away.  Unlike  the  trim  basket  of 
their  neighbors,  the  nest  of  the  kingbirds 
was  a  bird  junk-shop.  A  bit  of  lace  from 
the  cap  bf  a  member  of  the  farm  household, 
a  large  pie*ce  of  "  swiss-ribbed  "  underwear,  a 
239 


NESTLINGS    OF    FOREST   AND    MARSH 

shoe  string,  a  bit  of  calico,  a  gay  ribbon, 
the  flaxen  wig  of  a  small  doll,  horse  hair, 
feathers,  and  rootlets  combined  to  form  its 
walls  and  lining.  The  feathers  were  mostly 
on  the  outside,  woven  in  so  as  to  wave  wildly 
and  add  to  its  general  air  of  rakishness.  It 
was  well  suited  in  construction  and  appear- 
ance to  the  harum-scarum,  devil-may-care 
occupants.  When  we  looked  in  first,  there 
were  four  white  eggs  with  brown  spots  at  the 
larger  end,  lying  with  points  toward  the 
centre  after  the  manner  of  game-birds'  eggs. 
The  mother  seemed  to  be  seldom  at  home 
but  always  in  some  neighboring  tree,  whence 
she  swooped  down  upon  us  with  relentless 
fury.  When  the  young  were  out  of  the  shell, 
the  anger  of  both  parents  increased  at  any 
approach  to  the  nest.  Fortunately  for  the 
poor  orioles,  their  babies  were  hatched  and 
gone  before  the  young  kingbirds  made  their 
debut,  or  I  fear  even  their  courage  would 
not  have  withstood  the  tyranny  of  the  fly- 
catchers. The  male  stood  daily  updn  a  con- 
spicuous perch  with  a  chip  upon  his  shoulder, 
240 


CCEUR    DE   LION 


as  it  were,  and  dared  any  bird  to  fly  near  by. 
I  now  realized  the  cause  of  his  hatred  of  the 
crows  and  jays.  That  wise  little  head  well 
knew  who  were  thieves  and  murderers  of  in- 
fants, and  bravely 
he  defended  his 
home  against  all 
such. 

To  photograph 
the  nest  as  it  was 
in  the  tree  was  at- 
tended with  so 
many  difficulties  as 
to  be  impractica- 
ble. An  attempt 
to  photograph  the 
young  birds  later 

.         ,    .  1^1 

resulted  in  a  battle 
with  the  parents  during  which  the  young 
took  flight.  The  old  birds  would  circle 
around  and  above  the  tree,  swooping  down 
and  striking  the  hat  of  the  Man  with  the 
Camera  in  a  way  quite  startling.  When 
a  nestling  flew  out,  the  father  followed  him, 

16  241 


fledgeling 


NESTLINGS    OF   FOREST   AND    MARSH 

keeping  just  underneath  him  in  a  way  that 
suggested  catching  him  in  case  of  a  tumble. 
In  this  manner  he  escorted  him  to  a  place 
of  safety,  and  returned  to  the  contest  just  in 
time  to  assist  another  fluttering  youngster  to 
reach  port.  Meantime  the  mother  was 
guarding  two  on  a  bush  fully  one  hundred 
feet  away.  We  had  waited  too  long.  Their 
flight  was  strong  and  self-reliant,  and  there 
was  no  hope  of  inducing  them  to  pose.  We 
were  obliged  to  content  ourselves  with  a 
fledgling  from  another  nest  found  later  in 
the  Spring.  This  little  fellow  was  the  only 
one  at  home  when  we  called  for  him,  his 
older  brother  having  taken  flight  at  our  ap- 
proach. We  coaxed  him  to  sit  still  a  minute, 
and  then,  having  snapped  the  camera,  we 
drove  on.  When  we  rode  by  two  hours 
later,  he  was  still  posing  in  the  same  spot 
with  a  contentment  indicative  of  wants  well 
supplied,  and  we  knew  that  his  doting 
parents  had  not  neglected  him. 


242 


A  WOOD  THRUSH 


When  birds  sang  out  their  mellow  lay, 
And  winds  were  soft  and  woods  were  green, 
And  the  song  ceased  not  with  the  day. 

LONGFELLOW. 


CAN  any  one  describe  the  song  of  a  wood 
thrush  ?  Poets  and  naturalists  alike 
rave  over  it,  and  even  for  non-bird-lovers  it 
has  a  strange  fascination.  Heard  in  the 
soft  fading  light  of  early  evening,  it  is  most 
beautiful.  Then  the  more  noisy  songsters 
who  have  made  the  long  summer  day  radiant 
with  their  music  are  quiet,  and  slowly,  with- 
out hurry,  each  clear  note  perfect  as  a  pearl, 
the  thrush  chants  its  evening  hymn.  It  falls 
like  a  benediction  upon  the  silent  forest,  "  O 
fair !  O  sweet !  O  holy  !  " 

The  bird  himself  is  no  less  fascinating  than 

his  song.     Of  a  beautiful  soft  brown  plumage 

with  snowy  breastspottedlike  aleopard's  skin, 

and  large  liquid  eyes  that  look  at  you  with 

243 


NESTLINGS    OF    FOREST  AND    MARSH 


both 
dent 


trust  and  fear,  he  draws  the  bird  stu- 
with  irresistible  bands  of  love.  His 
gentleness  appeals 
to  one's  chivalry ; 
his  faith  makes  pro- 
tection obligatory. 
Surprising  lack  of 
concealment  in  the 
choice  of  a  nest- 
ing-site renders 
the  study  of  the 
thrush's  home  life 
comparatively  easy. 
He  is  called  "shy" 
and  "timid,"  but 
those  I  have  watch- 
ed have  been  con- 
fiding and  friendly 
to  an  astonishing 
degree.  I  have 

A  jiest  of  mud  and  grasses  gone      Quite      Up     tO 

the    nest,    talking   soothingly    all    the    time 
to    the    little    brown    mother,    and    she    re- 
mained  perfectly   quiet.     A   sudden  move- 
244 


A   WOOD    THRUSH 


ment  would  cause  her  to  rise  quickly  and 
stand  motionless  on  the  nest,  watching 
me  with  eyes  full  of  dread,  and  when  this 
occurred  I  took  myself  away  as  speedily  as 
possible.  Cruel  indeed  would  it  be  to 
torture  that  gentle  mother-heart  unneces- 
sarily. 

This  summer,  on  a  horizontal  branch  of  a 
spreading  apple-tree  in  a  neighbor's  orchard, 
a  pair  of  these  thrushes  placed  their  nest  of 
mud  and  grasses.  It  was  not  more  than 
seven  feet  from  the  ground  and  quite  exposed 
to  view.  When  we  found  it,  sitting  had 
begun,  and  the  little  brown  mother  brooded 
impartially  upon  her  own  blue  eggs  and  the 
speckled  egg  of  a  cowbird  that  lay  with 
them.  Usually  we  removed  the  cowbird's 
egg  wherever  found,  but  in  this  case  curi- 
osity prompted  us  to  leave  it.  It  was  later 
in  developing  than  the  others,  and  the  young 
thrushes  were  four  days  old  when  their  ugly 
foster  brother  broke  his  shell.  The  contrast 
between  them  was  very  interesting.  The 
thrush  babies  were  pink,  plump,  and  naked, 
245 


NESTLINGS    OF    FOREST   AND    MARSH 

while  the  young  cowbird  was  covered  with  a 
fuzzy  white  down-like  cotton,  and  had  the 
hollow  back  of  a  cuckoo.  When  only  a 
day  old  he  tried  to  boost  the  others  out  of 
the  nest,  or  at  least  persisted  in  putting  his 


Young  wood  thrushes  and  cowbird 

head  down,  raising  his  back  and  "  hitching  " 
backward  with  a  funny  motion  which  would 
shove  any  bird  of  his  size  out  of  the  nest. 
Fortunately  the  thrushes,  being  older,  were 
larger,  and  as  there  were  but  two,  the  three 
nestlings  managed  to  stay  in  the  cradle  to- 
gether. I  fancied  the  parent  thrushes  looked 
askance  at  the  queer  baby,  but  they  fed  him 
without  audible  protest,  and  never  told 
whether  they  admired  or  disliked  him.  We 
photographed  the  fledgelings  when  the  cow- 
246 


A    WOOD    THRUSH 


bird  was  two  days  old,  expecting  to  continue 
our  observations  later  on,  but  every  one  of 
them  fell  a  victim  to  a  crow,  and  the  little 
adobe  house  was  left  empty. 

Two  weeks  later  this  same  pair  of  thrushes 
built  in  a  low  crotch  of  a  sapling  about  four 
feet  from  the  ground.  The  nest  was  not 
shielded  in  any  way.  No  leaves  hung  over 
it,  no  vines  covered  it.  It  was  a  target  for 
the  gaze  of  all  passers-by.  Yet  there  the 
fearless  mother  sat  day  after  day,  looking 
out  with  calm  eyes  that  seemed  to  read  our 
love  and  to  trust  to  our  protection.  She 
allowed  the  Man  with  the  Camera  to  come 
within  two  feet  of  her,  but  when  he  attempted 
to  set  up  that  black  box  on  three  shiny  legs, 
it  was  too  much  for  even  her  quiet  spirit. 
Away  she  flew,  and  refused  to  return  so  long 
as  the  camera  remained  in  sight.  Knowing 
her  misfortune  with  the  first  brood,  we  hes- 
itated about  bothering  her  while  rearing  this 
one.  The  four  blue  eggs  hatched,  one  each 
day,  until  four  pink  babies  filled  the  little 
nest.  After  this,  no  mother  ever  led  a 
247 


NESTLINGS    OF   FOREST  AND    MARSH 

busier  life  than  she.  With  no  aid,  as  we 
thought,  from  the  male  bird,  she  fed  and 
guarded  the  little  ones.  The  tree  stood 
near  a  small  slough,  and  there  she  found 
food  in  plenty  without  much  hunting;  but 
the  nervous  strain  was  very  great  on  her, 
and  she  began  to  be  ragged-looking  and 
fidgety.  I  wondered  where  the  father  might 
be,  for  after  the  brood  hatched  we  never 
heard  his  song  or  saw  more  than  one  parent 
(presumably  the  mother)  near  the  nest  at  a 
time.  Had  he  fallen  a  victim  to  cat,  owl, 
or  small  boy  ?  However  that  may  be,  the 
small  brown  mother  bore  her  part  bravely 
and  reared  her  family  well.  It  rained  hard 
one  night,  and  early  the  next  morning  I 
went  out  to  see  the  tiny  thrushes.  There 
sat  the  largest  on  the  edge  of  the  nest,  preen- 
ing his  feathers  just  as  he  had  seen  his 
mother  do.  I  startled  him  by  spattering 
him  with  raindrops  from  the  leaves,  and  out 
he  fluttered  to  a  twig  three  feet  away.  This 
relieved  the  pressure  at  home,  and  imme- 
diately three  little  heads  were  raised  and  six 
248 


A    WOOD    THRUSH 


small  brown  wings  flapped  vigorously.  One, 
stronger  than  the  others,  climbed  upon  the 
back  of  a  brother  and  stretched  up  to  his 
fullest  height.  He  was  a  wise-looking  baby, 
but  gentle,  as  are  all  the  wood  thrushes. 
When  I  attempted  to  capture  him,  he  too 
took  flight.  The  other  two  remained  in 
the  nest  until  evening,  but  at  dusk  all  had 
flown.  For  several  days  we  were  on  the 
lookout  for  a  solitary  thrush  with  four 
fledglings  in  the  wood,  and  after  a  week  I 
fancied  we  saw  them  in  the  bushes  near  the 
slough,  about  one  hundred  yards  from  their 
old  nest.  The  mother  was  very  busy  and 
very  silent,  as  became  a  widow  with  four 
little  ones  to  care  for.  How  we  longed  to 
help  her,  only  those  who  like  to  manage 
other  people's  babies  can  understand. 


249 


YELLOW    WARBLER 

Thy  duty,  winged  flame  of  Spring, 
Is  but  to  love  and  fly  and  sing. 

LOWELL. 

AMONG  the  tangled  wild-blackberry 
vines  that  grew  on  the  edge  of  the 
deep  wood,  a  pair  of  yellow  warblers  made 
their  pretty  home.  When  I  discovered  it, 
there  was  just  a  bit  of  silver  fibre  all  matted 
together  and  laid  loosely  in  the  parting  of 
the  branches.  Early  in  the  morning  and 
late  in  the  afternoon  I  watched  it  grow  hour 
by  hour,  for  during  the  middle  of  the  day 
the  little  workers  rested  in  the  cool  depth 
of  the  wood.  Both  brought  strips  of  the 
outer  skin  of  the  same  silvery  weed  that 
the  orioles  use  in  their  dainty  cradles,  and 
scratched  it  into  the  required  fineness  in 
much  the  same  way,  with  feet  and  bill. 
They  were  nervous,  fidgety  little  house- 
keepers, entirely  absorbed  in  their  work, 
and  so  oblivious  of  my  presence  that  one  of 
250 


YELLOW    WARBLER 


them  alighted  on  my  shoulder  by  mistake  in 
her  hurry  to  reach  the  nest  over  which  I  was 
bending.  She  was  surprised  but  not  alarmed, 
and  flew  at  once  to  her  work  when  I  withdrew. 

As  in  the  case  of  all  birds'  nests,  the  ma- 
terial brought  was  shaped  to  suit  by  a  turning 
or  wriggling  of  the  little  mother  round  and 
'round  in  the  chosen  spot,  tucking  ragged 
ends  in,  scratching  other  places  out,  until 
it  felt  comfortable  and  looked  smooth. 

Even  with  these  wee  builders  there  is  much 
individuality,  some  of  their  nests  being  round 
and  trim  with  a  nicely  moulded  edge,  others 
simply  twisted  together  and  fastened  so  loosely 
that  the  least  spreading  of  the  branches  by 
the  wind  causes  them  to  tip  over.  One  little 
nest  that  we  found  in  a  small  broad-leaved 
sapling  had  two  of  the  leaves  fastened  down 
over  it  in  the  weaving  so  as  to  form  a  com- 
plete shelter  and  protection  from  the  wind. 
The  little  mother  flew  in  at  the  side,  and  sat 
with  her  head  toward  the  opening,  perfectly 
concealed  from  curious  eyes,  yet  having  full 
view  of  all  her  neighbors'  doings. 

251 


NESTLINGS    OF   FOREST  AND    MARSH 

The  little  pair  in  the  blackberries,  how- 
ever, took  no  such  precautions.  They  were 
typical  yellow-bird  architects,  and  their  home 
was  built  with  an  eye  to  sunshine  and  fresh 
air,  and  recklessly  exposed  to  the  gaze  of 
every  passer-by.  The  outside  being  com- 
plete, they  brought  silk  from  the  pussy-wil- 
lows, padding  it  inside  thickly  and  smoothly 
up  to  the  rim. 

Alas !  that  wretched  parasite  among  birds, 
the  cowbird,  found  the  pretty  home  and 
made  it  a  cradle  for  one  of  her  own  ugly 
eggs.  When  this  was  discovered,  there  was 
great  consternation  in  the  warbler  family  for 
an  hour  or  so.  Then  patiently,  choosing 
the  lesser  of  two  evils,  the  little  builders 
carefully  constructed  a  second  story  on  top 
of  the  first,  leaving  the  intruder  walled  into 
the  cellar.  Scarcely  was  the  structure  com- 
pleted and  one  tiny  blue  egg  laid,  when  the 
same  catastrophe  overtook  it.  This  was  too 
much,  and  I  expected  them  to  desert  and 
build  elsewhere,  but  with  more  than  human 
perseverance  they  formed  a  third  nest,  even 
252 


YELLOW   WARBLER 


more  dainty  in  proportion  and  workmanship, 
on  top  of  the  other  two,  making  it  look  like 
a  little  gray  tower. 

When  the  tiny  bluish  eggs  were  laid  on 
the  white  satin  lining,  the  whole  formed  an 
exquisite  picture  framed  in  the  dark  green 
leaves  and  red  brown  branches. 

Up  to  this  time  there  had  been  much  chat- 
tering and  many  happy  snatches  of  song,  as 
the  builders  worked  and  wooed.  Sometimes 
the  master  of  the  small  household,  as  if 
overcome  with  the  beauty  and  joy  of  it  all, 
would  drop  the  mouthful  of  material  he  was 
bringing  and  sing  with  all  his  might,  then  fall 
to  kissing  his  little  spouse,  telling  her  how 
sweet  she  was  and  how  happy  he  was  and  all 
the  rest  of  it.  But  now  a  sudden  silence 
fell  upon  the  blackberry  vines.  A  secret 
too  precious  to  be  told  was  going  on,  and 
he  sang  in  a  tree  a  little  farther  away,  where 
she  could  see  and  hear  but  would  not  be 
betrayed.  When  not  bringing  her  food  or 
taking  a  necessary  meal  himself,  he  was  ever 
at  his  post.  When  she  left  the  nest,  he 
253 


NESTLINGS    OF    FOREST  AND    MARSH 

stood  guard  near  but  not  on  it,  often  going 
down  to  it  to  look  and  admire  if  he  thought 
no  one  could  see.  In  exactly  thirteen  days 
I  knew,  by  his  absence  from  his  usual  post 
and  his  new  anxiety  with  regard  to  my  visit, 
that  the  first  little  one  was  hatched.  For 
almost  the  first  time  he  scolded  me,  because 
now  there  was  something  so  beautiful  and 
wonderful  in  that  tiny  nest,  he  was  sure  I 
would  want  it  for  my  own.  And  truly 
there  was  something  beautiful  and  wonder- 
ful, though  only  infinitesimal  bits  of  naked 
birdlings.  Every  part  of  the  little  bodies  was 
perfect  in  proportion  ;  even  the  small  heads 
were  round  and  pretty,  at  least  to  one  who 
loves  bird-babies.  They  were  the  smallest 
nestlings  I  have  seen  except  those  of  the 
humming-bird. 

At  the  end  of  a  week  they  had  pin  feathers 
on  wings  and  tail  and  down  on  head  and 
back.  In  another  week  the  feathers  were 
fairly  out,  and  the  wee  birds  were  the  prettiest 
things  in  the  wood.  They  climbed  up  on 
the  edge  of  the  nest  and  looked  out  into  the 
254 


YELLOW   WARBLER 


great  green  forest  world  with  innocent  baby 
eyes,  not  a  whit  afraid  of  the  danger  that 
lurked  in  every  bush.  I  feared  for  them, 
because  I  knew  that  those  blackberry  vines 


Wee  yellow  warbler  nestlings 

were  the  haunt  of  snakes  which  had  destroyed 
more  than  one  brood  I  had  been  watching. 
The  parents  feared  also,  and  came  busily 
with  food  as  if  to  coax  them  to  be  contented 
at  home  until  their  wings  were  stronger. 

At  length  one  day,  not  quite  three  weeks 
from  the  time  they  first  broke  the  pretty 
shells,  I  was  startled  to  see  the  mother  bird 
fly  out  to  meet  me  and  fall  fluttering  to  the 
ground.  I  stooped  to  follow  and  pick  her 
up,  but  she  fluttered  into  weeds  across  the 
road.  Sure  that  she  was  wounded,  I  again 
255 


NESTLINGS    OF    FOREST  AND    MARSH 

tried  to  catch  her,  but  after  having  led  me 
twenty  feet  from  the  nest,  she  flew  up  into 
the  tree  as  well  as  ever.  This  is  the  only 
time  I  have  seen  a  warbler  try  the  trick 
practised  by  some  of  the  larger  birds,  and  I 
could  scarcely  believe  my  eyes.  Even  then 
I  was  at  a  loss  to  know  why,  because  she 
had  made  so  little  protest  on  my  other  visits 
to  her  nursery.  But  when  I  reached  the 
nest,  with  a  flutter  and  rush  out  flew  one  of 
the  nestlings  who  had  sat  in  the  valley  of 
decision  too  long,  and  search  revealed  the 
other  two  sitting  on  separate  twigs,  solemn 
as  young  owls,  with  no  attempt  to  escape. 
They  let  me  pick  them  up,  and  posed  beau- 
tifully for  their  portraits.  After  that  one  of 
them  sat  in  unwinking  silence  on  the  branch 
where  we  placed  him  for  six  long  hours, 
while  his  fond  papa  from  time  to  time 
brought  him  flies,  small  green  worms,  and 
spiders.  The  other  two  were  more  restless, 
and  disappeared  with  their  mother  among 
the  dense  foliage.  That  night  at  least  three 
of  the  family,  including  the  father,  slept  in  a 
256 


YELLOW   WARBLER 


hazel-bush  close  by  the  old  blackberry  vines, 
until  a  vigorous  shaking  of  the  branches 
disturbed  them. 

It  is  really  almost  as  profitable  to  prowl 
through  the  clearings  by  moonlight  as  in  the 
daytime,  if  one  is  sufficiently  familiar  with 
birds  to  recognize  species  by  their  size,  form, 
and  flight ;  for  up  from  the  ferns,  out  of  the 
bushes,  and  sometimes  from  the  top  of  fence- 
posts,  one  may  flush  these  little  sleepers  and 
discover  where  they  spend  their  nights. 


257 


PRINTED  FOR  A.  C.  McCLURG  &  CO.  BY 
THE  UNIVERSITY  PRESS,  JOHN  WILSON 
&  S0N  (INC.),  CAMBRIDGE,  U.  S.  A. 


-•«*-»-  -*• 

FOURTEEN  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 


logy 


This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 
Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


JUN   5'58 

; 

Mv27'58LM 

JUN  4     1966 

• 

General  Library 


. 


382683 


L1BRARV 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


